


Heart Sick

by Senneres



Category: Dead men tell no tales, Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales - Fandom, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: 1700s Naval Warfare, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cursed Salazar, Cursed Silent Mary Crew, Curses, Dark, Dark Carina, Dark Jack, Dubious Consent, Exploration of Curses, F/M, Major Character Injury, Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales, Out of Character Behaviours, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-07-03 02:59:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 56,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15809931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senneres/pseuds/Senneres
Summary: Carina never makes it ashore to Hangman's Bay, but is captured by Capitán Salazar and his crew.  Salazar says he will free Carina in exchange for Jack Sparrow...But will he really let her go?(Warning: NSFW, Dubious Consent, Sexual Content)





	1. Of Petticoats And Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish Translations at the End of the Chapter.

The swim from the smallboat had been a mistake.

Carina was utterly exhausted.

Spitting out a mouthful of saltwater, she barely had the strength to stand in her soaking wet clothes. She hadn't cared about taking off her dress in front of Henry and Jack – but she had kept her underthings on, and now she regretted the pointless modesty that had prevented her from removing even them. As her feet finally found the water shallow enough to stand in, she nearly toppled forward, dragged by the force of the harsh waves smacking against her and the heavy pantaloons she still wore. She steadied herself and stayed like that for a few light-headed minutes, trying to bring her breathing under control as the water ebbed and flowed around her waist; but her corset was too tight, her clothes too heavy, and she knew the journal strapped tightly to her leg wouldn't be faring well in the seawater. She was also beyond drained and extremely uncomfortable.

Finally, Carina gave in and decided practicality absolutely had to win out over convention. She cursed her stupid pantaloons out loud, and the vagaries of feminine attire in general, before untucking her shift and yanking at the wet heavy thing, wriggling it off and down her legs, until she was only in her corset and shift. Fortunately, on closer inspection, the journal seemed to have survived the swim, jewel intact – but the sooner it was out of the seawater the better. She knew once she dried she'd need to keep warm, so she gathered up the offensive pantaloons in a ball, tucked her journal safely inside, and threw it towards the beach with as much strength as her sore arms could muster. She would figure out where to hang it up to dry later.

Behind her, across the waters, she heard Henry and Jack yelling, but frankly she was far too angry at the entire ludicrous situation – _ghosts indeed!_ – to even spare them a glance. And it was absolutely Jack's fault, anyway, suggesting the Dying Gull's crew dump them in the first place! She was sick and tired of the whole misadventure.

"Stupid bloody pirates," she muttered to herself as she worked on the laces of her corset.

With more annoyed mutters, she managed to loosen the corset enough to drag it off. She flung it aside in disdain, where it floated for a moment or two before gracefully folding in on itself to sink in the water.

"Never wearing a corset again!" she pronounced with some satisfaction, finally able to take in a much-needed lungful of air.

As she pushed through the shallows towards the shore, she decided she would just have to make do with wearing only her shift. At least until she made it back to civilisation. It did feel a little strange, having only one layer of thin cotton between her and the elements, but practicality was practicality, and she still had a fair few yards of water left to wade through. It was fortunate, she supposed, that her shift was at least hemmed to just below her knees. Some shifts she owned were only to the tops of her thighs; but, thankfully, she hadn't been wearing one of them the day she'd been arrested on Saint Martin.

"Carina!" Henry's urgent voice sounded from her left. "Carina!"

She groaned inwardly.

Of course, Mr Henry Turner would be shocked by her state of undress, she thought to herself. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder; she was not going to be fazed by his censure.

"Carina, _run_!"

Carina turned, puzzled.

It took her a full moment to understand.

Right in front of her was a man's chest.

With a hole in it.

She looked up, confused, at the face above it.

Discoloured eyes.

Ghastly grey skin.

A torn hat.

And – black flakes, drifting upwards, like ash from a fire caught in the breeze.

She stared.

"Wh… what are you?" She uttered faintly.

The grey mouth moved.

The man with the missing chest was answering her.

"¿Es usted un pirata?"

She froze in horror.

Impatient, the man waved his sword threateningly at her.

"You're a…" she stumbled and fell backwards into the water as she tried to get away from his sword. "You're a…"

"¡Dímelo!"

Even his sword arm had… pieces. Missing.

Next to the chest with the inexplicable hole, arrived a body with no head. Just the lower part of a face. Above the mouth – nothing.

The missing chest and the headless body were now both pointing swords at her.

"¡Responde!" They were saying. "¿Es usted un pirata?"

Impatient, the one without a head grabbed at her.

Carina screamed and fought his cold grip, but they were stronger than her, pulling her up to where they stood on the top of the waves, and dragging her over the water like it was solid ground, dragging her with them to where –

"Capitán Salazar," the one with the missing chest called. "Capitán Salazar, ¡tenemos a uno de ellos!"

Carina was being forcibly taken to their Captain, and she'd never been more terrified in her life than when he turned glowing, malevolent eyes towards her.

Looking at Captain Salazar for the first time – the very same Captain that Henry had warned Jack about, the one Carina had scoffed at them both for being afraid of – she couldn't help feeling now like an utter fool. She'd never been more wrong for scoffing at Henry: for there was nothing to scoff at in this Captain's merciless expression. She knew without a doubt that if she dared scoff now, her blood would likely mingle with the rippling seawater they held her over.

But - _what were they?_

Staring up at his dead, grey skin and unnaturally flaming eyes, her mind struggled to prevent the collapse of every rational, logical thing she'd ever believed and held true about the world. She couldn't even scream again, her mouth was too dry. She tried desperately to process the sensory and mental overload of it all. But there was one thing that could not be denied, reluctant as she was to accept _any_ of it.

These weren't ghosts.

Not in the traditional way people thought of ghosts.

These were _living-dead men_.

With strength and grip and unnatural eyes that narrowed in on her and mouths that snarled, who carried heavy swords and spoke in thick Spanish accents.

"And what... is this?" Black-cracked lips drew back in a sneer. "You brought a woman, Sparrow?"

The way he looked at her made her stomach tighten and her breath catch in her throat, and she could not for the life of her bring herself to speak.

The Captain chuckled dryly at her frightened response, and turned back to where Jack and Henry stood helplessly on the dry sand, only a few yards away. "Entonces… ¿Ese es tu amante?"

"Actually, no." Jack pressed his hands together, "That's me map, an' it'd be real appreciated if you could give her back –"

"Let her go!" Henry had his sword out, pointing it as close to the Captain as he dared.

"You want her back, boy?" The Captain grinned, his eyes flaring red. "Why don't you come and get her?"

"Henry –" Carina choked out, straining to twist her head to see him around the blackened sleeves and charred flesh of the men who held her. "Henry, they'll –"

Her captors jerked her back with a sharp word in Spanish, and Henry nearly leapt into the water to fight them.

"Don't!" Jack said quickly, a hand on Henry's arm. "Don't leave dry land!"

"But they have Carina!" Henry protested.

"You go into the water, they'll kill you!" Jack said urgently.

Henry looked between Carina and Captain Salazar, torn.

Salazar clicked his tongue as though in sympathy, before sneering at Jack. "Perhaps, Sparrow, I take her instead, hmm?"

Carina's heart nearly stopped at his words. _Why would he want her?_

"She's got nothing to do with this!" Henry swung his sword, but could not reach them. "Let her go!"

Captain Salazar leant triumphantly towards Jack, his eyes a bright blood-red.

"Jack Sparrow," he laughed softly. "If you want her back, I will be waiting. For you."  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> ¿Es usted un pirata? – Are you a pirate?
> 
> ¡Dímelo! – Tell me!
> 
> ¡Responde! – Answer!
> 
> Tenemos a uno de ellos – We have one of them
> 
> Entonces... ¿Ese es tu amante? – So… is that your lover?


	2. Of Innocence And Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish Translations at the End of the Chapter.

Having suffered through two arrests, multiple escape attempts, imprisonment and then her near-execution by hanging for being a witch on Saint Martin – and now, captured by a cursed Spanish crew – Carina was feeling very close to breaking point.

It seemed that her life was becoming some sort of twisted joke of fate. That, like Sisyphus, she was doomed to constantly repeat her destiny – only instead of pushing a boulder up a hill, she was destined to be dragged away, captured or otherwise held prisoner, over and over again.

This time she didn't even bother to protest her innocence, as she had when she was nearly executed. She suspected any protests would be a fruitless endeavour anyway, so far as her captors were concerned. One look at the crew of the Silent Mary, with their cracked, grey faces, savage snarls and merciless amber-coloured eyes, and it seemed extremely unlikely they would listen to any pleas of innocence from her.

Her two captors had carried her between them, moving swiftly over the rippling waves to take her aboard the Silent Mary, following in the wake of their Captain. Once they'd reached the ship, they'd forced her at swordpoint to make the slow climb up a rope-ladder that had been flung down overhead, and by the time she'd hauled herself up over the seaweed-stained side of the ship, she was utterly spent.

She was only prevented from sinking to the deck by the appearance of her captors, who took hold of her on each side, and started to march her up some nearby steps.

She thought she'd glimpsed other men briefly on the deck, their ostentatious clothes and ruddy faces in stark contrast to the monochrome Silent Mary crew; but those men were swiftly escorted off the ship, on the other end from where she was, and she knew better than to ask who they were or what they had been doing there. She did notice one of them in particular, wearing a battered bicorn hat and a rich blue velvet coat, stare openly at her with shrewd blue eyes in a calculating face; before she was pulled abruptly into Captain Salazar's cabin, and the door firmly shut behind her.

Inside, out of the bright Caribbean sun, it took some time for Carina's eyes to adjust to the dimness. Some light filtered through the smoke-smudged glass windows at one end of the cabin, and she could see that the cabin she was standing in had been, at one time, very elegant. On her left was a blackened and burnt but still exquisitely carved set of walnut drawers; placed near a matching walnut winged chair, its cushioned seat stiff-looking and grey. A few feet behind the chair was another door that led, she supposed, into the Captain's sleeping quarters.

A low murmur reached her from her right, and she blinked to see Captain Salazar was there, spreading a map out on a table, speaking quietly in Spanish to who, Carina could only assume, was his Lieutenant.

Her captors had brought Carina to stand in the middle of the cabin, tightly gripping her between them; the constantly manifesting flakes of ash from their horrific injuries swirling down her skin from where they had hold of her arms.

She tried very hard to pretend she didn't feel it when a single grey flake came to a rest on the back of one of her hands. It tickled her as it shifted and rolled, and she told herself firmly it was nothing but a fleck of dust, and certainly not a charred flake of human skin. And yet, in spite of her efforts to ignore it, she couldn't help glancing down at the persistent way it stayed. And then once she started watching, she couldn't stop. It circled her pale clenched fist, as though gathering courage. Then it suddenly leapt out at the edge of her stiff knuckles, flinging itself with great determination into space, before dissolving as it fell to the floor.

"¡Más fuerte!" The Lieutenant's voice was sharp. "¡El Capitán espera!"

Carina saw the blackened cracks on one of the Lieutenant's cheeks spin a drift of ash into the air, his single eye narrowing in on her captors. She could tell he'd lost his other eye in life, for he still wore an aged eyepatch over it. She didn't want to think about how the empty eye socket beneath must look in his current state.

"Capitán," one of her captors began respectfully, "What do you want to do with her?"

Carina watched the Captain, who did not look up from his study of the maps. In the silence that followed, she could clearly hear him take in a rasping breath as he moved slowly around the table; his hair floating gently about his face, his medals clinking, not even glancing up from the map in his hands before giving his order.

"Kill her."

Carina went cold.

"No esta bien, Capitán," the Lieutenant gasped a little, apparently shocked; and on either side of her, the two who held her prisoner between them shifted their feet uneasily.

"Not right, Lesaro? No, just necessary." Salazar spoke casually, as though he were speaking of something else, an old piece of furniture or a worn out item of clothing, and not the life of the young woman before him.

The Lieutenant looked directly at Carina for the first time, appearing to study her face and her lack of clothing, and his expression was both surprisingly compassionate and simultaneously distressed by the order of his Captain.

"Capitán," the Lieutenant began, "We do not know anything about this lady, her history, or if she is even a pirate –"

"Sí, Capitán, permission to speak?" The one missing the top half of his face asked quickly when Salazar tensed, and in the pause that followed, Carina heard his grip on the map he held tightening enough to crunch the edge of the parchment.

"Por favor, we mean no disrespect…"

Carina held her breath. Though it fascinated her, in a horrible way, to watch him speak – a face with only the mouth and chin and jawline visible – she also couldn't help a small rush of gratitude that, in spite of the fierce solidarity they'd all shown standing with their Captain in the shallow waters at the beach, here in the privacy of his cabin was another matter entirely.

"Forgive us," the Lieutenant added. "But the circumstance of – the Señorita's dress makes us question –"

"¡Suficiente!" Captain Salazar was stern. "You have your orders."

"Capitán?" The one with the missing chest still hesitated, his hold on her loosening, as he exchanged glances with the Lieutenant. "¿Estas seguro?"

Carina knew the switch now to Spanish was deliberate. But whether it was to spare her feelings, or to speak more freely with one another, or a mix of both, she didn't know.

"¿Qué, Santos?" Salazar slowly straightened, finally lifting his eyes from the map to turn and face them, his voice low and dangerous. "¿Me estás interrogando?"

She saw again how his eyes changed from amber to red as he looked at them, the same way they had on the beach; and stiffened, realising that whenever they'd been at their brightest red was when he had been looking directly at Jack. It was not a good idea then, for those reddening eyes to now be focused on her.

The man who had spoken stiffened at his Captain's words.

"Pero si la matas," the Lieutenant quickly interjected, flawlessly switching to Spanish with the others, "Sparrow no vendrá."

Even though she couldn't speak Spanish, Carina knew enough to guess that the Lieutenant was arguing in favour of her life being spared. Their continued reluctance to kill her increased the wild hope that she might yet escape execution...

But one look at Captain Salazar and she knew that they would not stand against his orders forever. No sailor who considered himself worthy would risk being branded a mutineer, and she sensed that these men, for all their objections to executing a woman, were extremely loyal to their Captain. Even if they were living-dead men. They would eventually have to obey him, and kill her.

Her mind swirled. This could be the last few minutes – seconds – of her life, and she wondered how Captain Salazar would order them to do it, whether they would behead her, or hang her, or drown her –

He scowled at their insubordination, but before he could open his mouth to reprimand them, his Lieutenant spoke rapidly again in Spanish.

Carina desperately tried to follow, but all she could tell was that the Lieutenant appeared to continue to argue for her life to be spared, from the way he gestured at her as he quietly tried to reason with his Captain, his expression open and pleading.

"Te hemos seguido en todas partes, Capitán. En el infierno y de regreso," the Lieutenant's voice was low. "Pero no podemos matar a una mujer. Es deshonroso. Por favor – perdone a la chica, Capitán."

The Capitán appeared to study Carina.

"You think it would be dishonourable, eh, Lesaro?" His gaze swept over her. "She doesn't look very honourable."

Carina straightened, uncomfortable at his blunt scrutiny. He looked at her as though he were measuring her value, and finding her lacking – and it was a look she was familiar with.

She'd seen men give her that kind of look before. Men who thought themselves more important than her. Men who couldn't fathom that a woman could, in any way, be worth serious time outside of the minimal effort on their part to produce a heir. Men who only believed women to be capable of a basic degree of intelligence – and not without also possessing some seriously awful character flaw to go with that intelligence. She lifted her chin in defiance of his look and stared straight back.

The Captain's eyes flared red.

"She is an innocent." The Lieutenant urged quietly. "She is not like the others. You can see it."

Captain Salazar snorted, which only made Carina purse her lips and look more imperious than ever.

"No one is innocent," he finally responded, his eyes not leaving her face.

Carina could not hold her tongue any longer. She had had enough of his arrogance. She was tired, she was thirsty, and – cursed ghosts or not – she knew an inflated sense of self when she saw it, and this Spanish Captain was full of it.

"No. No one is innocent. Or good." Carina coolly retorted. "There's only ever the bad – but some of them are on opposite sides."

All of them stared at her.

Suddenly, Captain Salazar laughed.

"How amusing, Señorita." His eyes flared again briefly. "And yet, not entirely true."

The other three turned now to stare at him, but he only waved them away with a regal hand.

"Leave." He commanded. "I will talk with her alone."

Lieutenant Lesaro hesitated. "Capitán –"

" _Alone,_ Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Lesaro pressed his lips together in a clear expression of unease, but turned, nodding curtly at the other two to let her go.

Carina wasn't sure if her situation was improving by the absence of the only ones who had been willing to plead for her life, but she wasn't going to let on how much that worried her. She tried not to wilt as her captors let go of her, locking her knees so that she would stand straight and strong, even as the door to the cabin closed behind her.

Salazar placed the map down, and went to a sideboard near the table. Pouring some clear liquid from a pitcher into a silver cup, he brought it to her.

"Water?" He offered, holding the cup out in his grey hand.

Carina was so thirsty she honestly didn't care if it was drugged, poisoned or not even water. After a day on the Gull, and the long climb up the steep side of the Mary, she would take anything gratefully.

"Thank you," she took the proffered cup. She was even more grateful though, to discover the cup contained only water. Stale water, but water nevertheless.

He moved away from her, to return the pitcher to the sideboard, and she noticed for the first time his strange gait. He walked heavily, favouring one leg more than the other; and she wondered if his limp, like his Lieutenant’s missing eye, was an injury he had sustained while living, or if it had happened when he died...

"What is your name, Señorita?"

His question broke her train of thought immediately. Feeling strangely guilty that he might have seen her staring, she snapped her eyes away from his legs and answered without even thinking.

"Carina Smyth."

"Ah. A common name for you English, eh?" He muttered dismissively. "Smith. Of course. Please, sit."

He barely turned as he motioned for her to sit in the armchair, but she ignored it.

Something about the way he'd said _of course_ made her decide to add, "It is Smyth, with a 'y'. Not quite so common."

He paused at the sideboard, slowly turning his head to hold her gaze again. His hair shifted about his face, as if small, invisible currents of water flowed between the locks.

She swallowed, but forced herself to stand even straighter. She was not about to let him see how frightened she was. She'd berated the bloodthirsty crowd come to watch her hang on Saint Martin, and even if today _was_ the day the fates had decreed she would die, she'd still refuse to be cowed by one Spanish Captain. No matter how unnatural he was.

"Then tell me," he sneered, placing the pitcher down with an emphatic thud, his eyes never leaving hers, "Carina Smyth, with a 'y', how did you come to be with such a one as Sparrow?"

"I was on Saint Martin. Henry and Jack– " Salazar's eyes flared red at her use of the pirate's first name, and she heard him draw in a sharp wheezing breath, "They – they helped me... when I was in trouble."

There was a long silence.

Salazar stayed completely still, unmoving, his eyes roaming her face again, scanning her as though searching for an answer to a question that she had a feeling was _not_ in her best interests for him to ask.

Not that she could blame him for wanting to know more. Her stumbling explanation was far too flimsy. Still, she hoped he would be more interested in asking about Jack. She really hoped he wasn’t going to ask her what the precise nature of her trouble had been – the trouble that had warranted her needing help in the first place. Even though she hadn’t admitted to needing help at the time. But she had an instinct that it would not be a good idea to tell him she'd been arrested and very nearly executed. And with Jack Sparrow.

"Por favor, Señorita, do not keep standing." He suddenly turned away from the sideboard to stalk back towards the table, gesturing again towards the armchair. "Sit."

She knew enough Spanish to know he'd said 'please' – but the way in which he said it told her he would not tolerate much more disobedience from her. Not without a consequence. She sat down uncomfortably, on the very edge of the armchair.

"I will want the truth now, Señorita Smyth." He looked away as though in deep thought, fingers sweeping lightly over the table as he moved around it; Carina had to shift in her seat to follow him.

"I would begin by asking why you are – so underdressed," he stopped and stood still, regarding her with a shrewd and calculating expression over the maps, "But perhaps that is a question one in your profession would prefer to –" he lifted his eyes to the cabin ceiling as though searching for the right word, "– demur?"

"One in my profession?" She was confused.

The Capitán smirked and looked pointedly at the thin cotton shift she was wearing, his mocking gaze sweeping up from her bare ankles and calves, to her thinly clad chest, lingering on her throat. Carina frowned at first, trying to understand what profession he would connect with her shift, when his meaning became clear. She blushed in anger.

"My profession is that of a woman of science, sir. As compassionate as I feel for those women who have no other recourse but to serve the lusts of men in order to live, I reject such an avenue for myself!"

The Capitán looked amused, but did not seem inclined to speak; the twist of his lips clearly telling her that he was very much enjoying seeing her lose her temper.

Carina clutched her cup tightly and took a deep breath, forcing herself to speak calmly and not to be provoked by him or his goading smile.

"And – and although I can appreciate your – your situation, you must permit me to say that it has nothing to do with me!" She took a deep breath, seeing that he was still apparently too amused in listening to her to interrupt, and risked saying, "I care little what your business with Jack is. I care little who you or your men are – or used to be. You and Jack can fight each other forever for all I care, because I – my path is separate to his. So please… Señor, just let me leave your ship so that I may – resume my journey."

The change in his expression was instantaneous, his eyebrows drawing together in anger as he bared his clenched teeth in a snarl. "Do not call me 'señor'," he growled, stalking back around the table to stand in front of her, his hair rolling wildly in his anger, "I am Capitán Armando Salazar! And while I appreciate _your_ situation, you cannot leave this ship."

"You – you were ready to kill me not ten minutes ago!" Carina was bewildered, and more than a little nervous, at how much of an effect him drawing closer to her had. It made her mouth dryer than ever, and her skin prickle uncomfortably, and her words catch in her throat, the closer he was. His sheer physical presence, even more than his appearance, intimidated her deeply.

She dropped her eyes to the cup of water she still held, trying to allow herself some relief from staring at his constantly changing eyes, and his constantly moving hair, and asked, "If I'm – so – inessential... why do you even need me –?"

He changed from anger back to amusement in a heartbeat, and his light-hearted answer threw her completely.

"Because I have decided to keep you, Carina," he said, and when she looked back up, alarmed at the use of her given name, his smile was mocking.

It sent a cold shiver of foreboding up her spine.

"But why?" Her voice came out far more frightened than she wanted, so she cleared her throat to add, "What use am I to you, Captain?"

"Ah, no, detener! Do not call me _Captain_!" His dark locks lashed the air as he shook his head in irritation. "I did not receive my medals of honour from the King of Spain himself to be called, by an English girl, 'Captain'!" He looked at her in distaste. "I am a Spanish _Capitán_ , Señorita, and I will be called so!"

In spite of the uncertainty of her situation, in spite of his temperamental nature, and her better judgement, Carina could barely smother her disgust at the arrogant pride with which he'd corrected her. "Well, if I am only an 'English girl', it still begs the question what use you have of me!"

He didn't answer immediately, choosing instead to watch her with interest.

Her cheeks were pink with the effort of suppressing her anger; and, seemingly aware of his silent scrutiny, and the danger, she wrestled to school her face from offense into a mask of casual indifference. It caused him to be more amused than ever.

"Señorita," he smiled softly, "Contrary to what I said to my good Lieutenant, I see a very great use for you."

Carina stared at him, all thoughts flown out of her head by his statement. Her mind turned his words over, trying to comprehend his meaning. It then dawned on her that he must have been planning to use her as a hostage all along… _of course he had._

He'd only threatened her with death to terrify her into submission.

The casual order to kill her; the way it had so obviously shocked his men, as if they had never expected him to say such a thing: it had all been just for show.

"Because I have you," he watched the progression of her thoughts on her face with more of the same sardonic amusement, "That heroic lover of yours will come back, bringing the Sparrow with him. And when your lover brings Sparrow to me, I can exchange you for him." He chuckled dryly. "Lesaro will be most relieved."

"My – my what?" She gaped. "Henry isn't – we aren't –"

"Ah, no, no, no, Señorita, no need to pretend with me," he moved closer again, towering over her as she shrank into the armchair, "I see the way he looks at you. He will bring Sparrow, in the hope that I will let you go free."

"And… will you let me go?" she asked carefully.

"Perhaps," he tilted his head. "That is still to be decided. But in the meantime, I would like you to tell me the truth."

"But I have told you the truth!"

"You have told me some of the truth, but not all." His gaze flared warningly, and his legs were now touching her knees, forcing her to shift back just to keep looking up at him. "You have not told me the real reason you are with Sparrow. Or why a _woman of science_ needed to travel with pirates."

She was in danger, she knew she was, but to tell him the purpose of her journey – that was something she absolutely could not do. "That is none of your business, _Capitán._ "

His lips drew back in a dangerous smile. He was close enough now for Carina to see the bile gathering at the corners of his mouth. "Let me tell you now, Carina Smyth, such rudeness will not end well for you, I think."

She found herself staring at the way his lips glistened, the way it varnished his teeth with a black sheen, the slow trickle down his chin when the bile could no longer be contained, and though she knew she should feel repulsed, there was a moment – a strange, inexplicable moment – when she felt drawn to him instead. And then a cold shiver rippled up her back, another presentiment of evil stronger than before, and she had to resist the urge to get up, _get up and run_ and to hell with the consequences.

"But, perhaps," he turned abruptly away and walked back to the table, his tone changing to one of polite restraint, "You are not used to respect, hmm?"

With careful efficiency, he began to roll up each map and arrange them neatly to one side of the table.

"Perhaps, a woman of science, such as yourself, has had to suffer many indignities. Perhaps, Señorita Smyth, you are rude and outspoken, because that is the only way you know how to protect yourself…"

"Perhaps…" Carina mentally started to assess the distance to the cabin door. "But, what you call rude and outspoken in me –" She estimated she could possibly reach it in six or seven steps. Five, if she ran. "Would be deemed intelligence and confidence, in a man."

"You think so, Señorita?" He didn't even turn, still rolling up the maps with care.

Carina sat up straighter and tensed her legs.

At the same time, she surreptitiously started to look for a place to quietly set her cup down, minding not to spill the water.

She had just leaned down to quietly set the cup by the side of the armchair, when he spoke.

"It is no good, Señorita," Salazar said over his shoulder, as he opened a drawer under the table, and put the neatly rolled up maps in it. "My men will prevent you stirring even a foot outside of this cabin without me. So do not try."

Carina immediately snapped her gaze from the cabin door to Capitán Salazar in shock, cup still in hand, but he had his back to her. She had no idea how she'd betrayed what she'd been thinking, but his uncanny perceptiveness was enough to make her reconsider how she was going to escape.

He pulled an old finely carved wooden chair out from the table and placed it opposite the armchair where she was sitting.

"I can spare you, Señorita." He leant on the back of the chair. "There will be no need for you to risk an escape. However, in exchange," his expression became unreadable, all the smug mockery and sardonic amusement gone. "I would like to hear your tale."

"What?" Carina frowned, confused.

"Your story, Señorita. The truth." He suddenly fixed her with a hard look. "I will know if you are lying."

"You'll spare me?" Carina shook her head. "Forgive me if I do not trust you."

"Forgive me, but you are not in a position to do otherwise." His grip on the back of the chair loosened, and he tapped the carved patterns lightly with a finger, as he regarded her thoughtfully. "You are wise not to trust, Carina, but I always found even the wise can be stupid at times."

Carina hesitated.

 _You'll have to stall, you know,_ her rationale told her. _Best to talk, play his game, tell a tale – but leave out the parts about the Trident. And Galileo Galilei. And keep an eye out in case Henry comes._ She glanced out the cabin windows. The sun still shone on the waters. _Then knock him out if you have to. Escape through the cabin windows and swim if absolutely no other way presents itself._

"Very well," she nodded.

"Bien," the Capitán smiled as he pulled the chair closer and made himself comfortable in it. "So. Your tale."  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> ¡Mas fuera! ¡El Capitán espera! – Speak up! The Captain is waiting!
> 
> No esta bien, Capitán – It is not right, Captain.
> 
> ¡Suficiente! – Enough!
> 
> ¿Estas seguro? – Are you sure?
> 
> ¿Qué? ¿Me estás interrogando? – What? Are you questioning me?
> 
> Pero si la matas, Sparrow no vendrá. – But if you kill her, Sparrow won't come.
> 
> Te hemos seguido en todas partes. En el infierno y de regreso. Pero no podemos matar a una mujer. Es deshonroso.  
> – We have followed you everywhere, Capitán. Into hell and back. But we cannot kill a woman. It is dishonourable.
> 
> Por favor – perdone a la chica, Capitán. – Please – spare the girl, Captain.
> 
> Detener – Stop
> 
> Bien – Good


	3. Of Windmills And Cups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish Translations at the End of the Chapter.

Carina couldn't help noticing that he had positioned himself exactly between her and the only way out of the cabin, but kept her voice from betraying her fear as she asked, "What would you like to know?"

His eyes flickered over her thin shift again briefly. She grasped her cup tightly, both offended and nervous at the look, and braced herself for more of the insulting innuendo he'd provoked her with before. But when he spoke it was not about her state of clothing at all.

"Begin with… Sparrow. How did you come to be travelling with him?"

Jack. Of course he'd want to know about Jack first. Somewhat relieved, Carina took a breath in before she answered.

"Like I said, Jack and Henry - helped me."

"Sparrow... helped you?" Capitán Salazar's face was incredulous. " _Sparrow?_ "

Carina paused.

So, the Capitán knew the kind of person Jack was...

It made Carina wonder just what his history with the pirate had been – though, given the few irritating hours she herself had already spent with Jack Sparrow, frankly it shouldn't be surprising that there would be a supernatural being with a vendetta against him. Jack was aggravating enough to make even a saint sharpen knives.

"We – ran into each other," she amended. "On Saint Martin."

Almost literally, she added to herself privately, remembering the odious Mr Swift gaping at them both before shrieking about a pirate and a witch being in his shop.

"But it was I who first found Henry–" Carina stopped.

She could _not_ tell him about the Trident. And yet for the life of her she couldn’t think of a suitable lie, to explain what had brought her to ask Henry for help.

Capitán Salazar almost seemed not to notice her obvious hesitation, only nodding encouragingly at her. "Tell me. What brought a woman of science, such as yourself, to Saint Martin in the first place?"

A little grateful that at least this was not something she had to think of a lie for, Carina answered. "I arrived on a small frigate from Port Royal a few weeks ago."

She remembered, with no small amount of chagrin, reading the tiny stub of a story in the London papers: a mysterious young man, the sole survivor of The Monarch, being held in a hospital on Saint Martin, babbling to all and sundry about the Trident of Poseidon. It had been a risk. But she had to. She _had_ to know. So she'd booked passage to Saint Martin, and with undeniable excitement had willingly stepped up the gangplank onto the ship to Port Royal, and then from Port Royal had boarded a smaller frigate to Saint Martin.

The Capitán shifted forward slightly. "Weeks?"

Carina paused again, but the Capitán persisted.

"You were on Saint Martin that long?"

She had boarded that first ship nearly three weeks ago now. The voyage itself was only going to take two weeks, or so she'd been told. It had been her first time ever to leave England, and she'd been filled with excitement to finally be able to take that very first real step towards fulfilling her lifelong dream: finding the Trident of Poseidon, and finishing what her father had been unable to.

Perhaps even, along the way, she’d thought she would find more clues as to who he was, and what his final fate had been. Finally discover what had driven him to give her away to the orphanage.

She liked to think her father had given her away out of love, that he'd nobly decided a life in an orphanage was supremely preferable to the dangers and hardships he would be facing.

When she was younger, she'd even entertained the idea that her father was still alive somewhere, still deeply grieving the loss of ever knowing the daughter he'd left behind, even as he searched diligently for the Trident of Poseidon. She'd wondered if he'd bequeathed her with the journal in the hopes that one day, she'd catch up to him; and then they could be happily, tearfully, reunited.

But the strict nuns who oversaw her education refused to allow such ideas to blossom unchallenged. "Your father is dead," they would tell her bluntly. "He's in the same grave your mother is."

She never could quite bring herself to believe it. She still preferred to think of her father in secret as a noble hero, and in the embarrassing naivety of youth, had imagined that the day she was old enough to leave the orphanage, she'd find him easily through sheer willpower alone.

She even dreamed sometimes, of holding the Trident of Poseidon in her hands, while her father looked on in awe. In those dreams she never saw her father clearly – just his eyes, which were blue. Like her own.

But the dreams she'd entertained as a lonely girl in an orphanage were unsurprisingly shattered by harsh reality: the last leg of the voyage she'd taken to Saint Martin now ranked as one of the worst experiences of her life. And her arrest and near-execution on Saint Martin after she'd arrived was icing on the proverbial cake.

She lifted her cup to her lips, pretending to take a small sip of water. "It was – a difficult journey."

Capitan Salazar shook his head in impatience at her answer. "How so?"

Carina really didn't want to discuss the nightmare voyage, so she kept it as brief as she could.

"When I first arrived – I was very ill." She remembered those first few days on Saint Martin, how she’d barely been able to even sit up and eat by herself.

"You were ill on the voyage?"

"There had been – a lot of sickness on the way. A lot of the crew became desperate. One of them tried to break into the doctor's cabin, steal medicine for one of the passengers. The captain… he dealt with him extremely harshly."

"What did he do?"

"He just – he just…" She faltered.

Truthfully, Carina did not want to remember. Having to think of it was hard enough; speaking of it felt impossible.

But the memories still pushed forward: the ragged cries for mercy, the mask of rage on the captain's face, the sound as the hard leather whip cracked across the man's spine, the icy rain that stabbed down, like frozen needles on her skin, the captain swearing and shouting that no one could leave the deck, not even the children, until it was over...

When they'd docked at Saint Martin's, Carina saw that man the captain had whipped one more time. He hadn't been able to walk. They’d had to carry him off the ship. She never knew what happened to him after.

"¿No pasó nada?" The Capitán had leaned forward, drawing in a slow, wheezing breath. "What happened?"

Carina saw his shrewd eyes, drinking in her every word, eager for more; as though he already knew what had happened, as though he could somehow _see_ it, but he wanted _her_ to tell him. She couldn’t shake the feeling that telling him of the cruel captain, who'd whipped one of his own men simply for being kind, would be satisfying nourishment for Capitán Salazar.

"The captain was simply over-eager in his punishment." She said abruptly.

His eyes flamed at her tone.

She lifted her chin up, bracing herself for his anger.

He tilted his head, his mouth parted in a half-sneer, but his eyebrows rising in something like… surprise. Yet she didn't know if it was surprise at her daring to risk his rage, or surprise that she could discern how much he enjoyed tales of cruelty. Perhaps it was both.

"Was he." Salazar said.

“To put it mildly," Carina was brisk, "Yes. He was.”

A short silence fell between them.

Carina refused to fill it.

She had no interest in satisfying Capitán Salazar. And not just because his avid interest in the cruelty of others appalled her. But also because the whole ordeal was really one she would rather forget.

Fortunately, he seemed to change his mind about pressing her for more details.

"So what did you do," he leaned back again, "Once you were well again, Señorita? What was your purpose for visiting Saint Martin?"

"I'd heard there was a –" Carina fumbled for a reason, and came up with one that was partially true. "A fine observatory, and I also hoped to – to find like-minded astronomers."

"You mean," he tilted his head, "Astronomers who would not mind that you are a woman."

Carina felt uncomfortable under his shrewd look, and hoped he hadn't noticed her hesitancy, but nodded.

"Yes."

"And so you run into Sparrow. And, even knowing him for what he is… a pirate…" Capitán Salazar's eyes burned red. "You agree to travel with him?"

Carina floundered for another convincing reason, and under the pressure of his bright red gaze, found herself blurting, "He said he'd help me find something."

"¿Sí?"

Carina bit her lip, wishing she'd said something else, anything else, but Capitán Salazar was waiting for her to continue, and it was too late now to take it back.

"Something…" She looked away, feeling the inevitability of having to tell him at least some more of the truth. "Something my father left for me to find."

"Sparrow knew your father?"

"No." Carina frowned at the question. "I don't even know who my father is."

The Capitán said nothing, seeming content to wait – albeit impatiently – for her to speak again.

"I just – I just needed someone with a ship. So I could leave Saint Martin."

This was dangerous territory, and Carina knew she really should just make something up – but the truth was, she just wasn't very good at lying. In an effort to buy herself time, Carina took another mouthful of water from her cup, awkwardly aware of his unwavering attention. The silence stretched out, even longer than before, the only sound his occasional pained breath which he himself barely seemed aware of.

Carina waited for him to ask another question, but he only continued watching her. The silence became heavy; the intensity of his sustained gaze even more so. She couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at her so much. Not like this. And certainly not for as long as this.

It was flustering.

It was intimidating.

Finally, Carina found herself caving.

"My – my father left me a – a map. In a journal..."

Carina really hoped Jack and Henry had the common sense to look for it amongst the clothes she'd flung onto the beach. But it was too late to think about it now. Hurriedly, she continued.

"I – I think my father had been working on it, when – well, they tell me he died, and left it to me. I grew up in an orphanage, and the journal is the only thing I have of my father's. That, and my name, which he also left me."

She waited, expecting the usual empty condolences others afforded her whenever she spoke of her humble origins.

But he said nothing of the kind.

"Is that all your tale?" He asked simply.

"That is all."

The Capitán leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.

Carina swallowed another mouthful of water, relieved that he seemed to have concluded his interrogation.

"So," he smiled good-humouredly. It made her shiver. "Let me tell you what you have omitted, and you will tell me, Carina –" he stood and walked towards the pitcher, "– if I am correct."

Picking up the pitcher, he moved slowly back towards her with it.

"You arrive in Saint Martin. You stir up some trouble. You are arrested and put in prison. You escape and somehow, along the way, run into Sparrow." He lifted the pitcher, languidly refilling her cup unasked. "Am I correct?"

Carina could barely hold her cup upright, his summary so accurate it was uncanny. "How – how on earth did you know I was – I was arrested?"

"I observe." He looked down at her. "You have circles under your eyes. You move stiffly. Your hair - ah, so tangled! And your ankles are bruised from chains, sí? And the way you took the water I gave you, without questioning… you have not had water, or food – in a long time. And your dress…" He shook his head and clicked his tongue. "They did not treat you well, did they, Carina?"

Carina’s mind raced as she realised just how much she’d been underestimating his powers of observation. Just what else he had been able to surmise? And yet, he’d led her to believe that he was content with her answers. And more than that, he’d led her to believe he’d been making arrogant assumptions about her...

"But… how could you know all that? You – you thought at first that my profession was – was that of a prostitute!"

"Truly, Señorita." He shook his head as he moved away with the pitcher. "I never thought so."

Carina frowned. "Then why did you say I was?"

He placed the pitcher back down on the table. "I wanted to provoke you."

"Why?"

"To see what kind of woman you were," he said quietly.

"And what kind of woman am I?"

He suddenly turned, eyes glittering cruelly. "You are nothing more than a lost little girl, crying for her papá."

Carina sucked in a breath at the sudden pain his words unexpectedly produced.

His eyes fired at the sound. "You pretend you are intelligent, but reading one book your father left you and looking up at the stars does not make you better than any other."

"I have not read 'one book'," Carina interjected hotly, "Nor do I pretend –"

"¿No? Then tell me, chica,” Salazar started to stalk towards her, a predator who had scented blood and was closing in, “Why do you travel about, pretending to seek answers, deliberately stirring up trouble? To be noticed? To pretend you are – somebody important? Or are you just unwilling to accept you are a nobody, a nothing, a no one, with no talent or wit to mark her as anything more than just – common."

His words pierced her.

Her vision blurred.

She turned away, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Then let me not waste any more of your time with my commonness –" Carina stopped, horrified when a hot tear spilled out and ran down her cheek.

"You are tilting at windmills, Carina," Salazar was relentless as he stood over her again, "Playing at make-believe, pretending to be more than you really are: an orphaned beggar, wanting to believe she is secretly a princess, like in the fairytales. But in truth she is what she has always been, unwanted and alone."

Wiping at her face, she took a deep breath and turned her face up to him. "Well, I would rather my make-believe fairy tales than your – your unbearable vileness."

"The truth is often vile, and usually unbearable," he said softly.

His eyes lingered on the single wet smear on her cheek.

"Is it?" She scoffed. "Or is being vile just your excuse? To hide yourself from others seeing you for who you really are? Because you couldn't possibly bear anyone to see your own pitiful lack of a soul?"

She thought she saw a wickedness in his expression, and it was then that she wondered if he'd actually meant anything he had just said – or if it was all just another test, to try and measure her character again. Or maybe because he just enjoyed seeing other people's pain.

"Who I really am," he leant forward, raising his palm upwards towards his face, "Is visible. There is no mistaking my - lack of a soul." He chuckled softly as he watched her. "Just as who you are is plainly visible, my pretty Señorita."

Carina refused to react again.

She was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing any more of the pain she carried. She did not blink, unwilling for any more tears to accidentally fall, and nonchalantly lifted her cup of water in a show of bravado. She drank it to the last mouthful, staring coolly at him over the rim as she did, like it was a personal challenge to him.

He smirked and was suddenly at her level, his hands on either side of her legs where she sat, leaning in until there was almost no space between them.

She held her cup tightly in one hand and returned his stare with her own.

And for a second she saw it again: the bright amber flaring up in the dark of his eyes, stark against his pale grey face, the black cracks splitting across his cheeks, the way his lips parted, his entire mouth an inky black bruise. He smelt of old blood and ash, and her scalp prickled uncomfortably at how close he was. That same cold shiver rippled _again_ up her back: and something inside screamed at her to _run_ , _run, just shove him back and run!_

"Afraid, Señorita?" He asked.

Carina stifled the terror inside, and tilted her chin up defiantly. She knew he could kill her. But even if he did, she was damned if she was going to die crying and whimpering like a coward. She felt him trace a cold thumb down her cheek to linger on her lip, before resting lightly at her neck. He leaned in further, his gaze dropping to her lips as he did.

She knew if she had a chance to try and escape, this was it.

That was when she did it.

She hit him square in the chin with her cup.

It was a strike which would have felled a living man, but it had no more effect on Capitán Salazar than to tilt his head a mere half-inch, and make him close his eyes for a brief second.

"Oh no, no no no no, poor Carina," he opened his eyes, amusement flaring. "And you'd been doing so well – almost well enough... to distract me for your escape."  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¿No pasó nada? - Nothing happened?


	4. Of Chances And Possibilities

"Capitán! Capitán!" There was an urgent rapping on the cabin door. "We have the Sparrow!"

At once, Capitán Salazar straightened.

"¡Puedes entrar!"

Lieutenant Lesaro came in. "Excuse the interruption, Capitán, but I knew you would wish to be informed immediately."

"Where's the Sparrow?"

"We secured him to the main mast, Capitán, along with…"

The Lieutenant paused, taking in Carina's stiff posture where she sat on the armchair, the cup still tightly clenched in her hand. His eyes dropped to the smudge of black on the edge of the cup, and he appeared to draw in a breath as he looked wonderingly back up at the Capitán.

"Speak." Salazar scowled. "What is it?"

"Capitán," Lesaro began again. "There is – something we must tell you. The boy came too. They swam here, and we caught them both trying to sneak aboard. The boy now says he hopes we might accept a trade: the Sparrow for the – the Señorita. And he had with him a book, Capitán."

"A book?" Salazar glanced slyly at Carina, who was staring at Lesaro in horror. "I wonder what book it is?"

"He did not want us to have it, Capitán." The Lieutenant gestured politely to Carina. "Said it belonged to her."

Carina could have throttled Henry. What had he been thinking? How did he expect that they wouldn't be interested in a journal with a large uncut ruby on its cover! _Idiot should've left the journal somewhere safe_ , Carina cursed him silently.

Capitán Salazar turned to Carina, relishing her deep dismay.

"Come, Señorita." Salazar took her forcefully by the elbow, pulling her to her feet. "It seems your _lover_ wishes to reunite you with your father's precious journal."

 

 

Out on the main deck of La María Silenciosa, the entire crew had gathered to witness the securing of the two trespassers aboard their ship. Salazar kept Carina at his side, ignoring her tight-lipped protests at his bruising grip, as the men parted respectfully for their Capitán.

Lieutenant Lesaro was quick to order the journal to be brought forward.

Officer Cortez, who had been unsuccessfully attempting to force Henry and Jack to divulge more about the mysterious journal, ceased his interrogation and brought it to Capitán Salazar.

"Here is the book the boy was carrying," he held it out with a deferential bow.

Salazar took it from Cortez. He could feel it was a little damp from having being in the sea, but not to the point of ruin. He held it in his grey hands, tracing the red jewel that adorned its cover. "What is the meaning of this jewel?"

Lieutenant Lesaro shook his head. "The boy refused to say."

"I can make them talk," Cortez said eagerly. "With your permission, Capitán, I can make them _sing_."

Salazar looked towards the main mast, where his men had just finished tying Henry and Jack tightly with ropes. Officers Moss and Santos held their cutlasses inches from their necks, eyes trained on their Capitán, awaiting his orders.

“Let me speak with your Captain!” Henry was struggling against his bonds, making every effort to get free. “I want to speak to him!”

But the Sparrow... he was simply leaning back nonchalantly against the mast, as though being tied up was an everyday occurrence for him.

Across the deck, cool dark eyes met fiery ones once more.

Black bile gathered on Salazar's lips.

"Jack Sparrow," he hissed, mouth drawn wide in a grin.

His men stilled, every eye bright with anticipation.

"You said you'd free Carina," Henry yelled, craning his neck around to look at Salazar, straining uselessly against the ropes that held him. "You said if Jack came, you'd let her go!"

"Did I say that?" Salazar looked around at his men. "Did I?"

Officer Cortez smirked, his cutlass ready in his hand.

"No, Capitán," he answered. "You said only that if they wanted her, you would be waiting for them."

"You tricked us!" Henry shouted. "You lied to us and you tricked us!"

Salazar stalked towards Henry, furious. "You accuse me of being a liar, boy? Eh?"

Carina went to move towards Henry in unconscious alarm, but Cortez barred her way, and all she could do was watch helplessly.

"She's a woman!" Henry cried out. "It's dishonourable to hold her prisoner!"

Santos snarled and slid his blade closer to Henry's neck.

"Ah, pobre niño, you speak ignorance." Salazar tilted his head in Henry's suddenly pale face. "It is you who sneaks aboard La María Silenciosa, like a wretched rat, and then you accuse _me_ of lying and being dishonourable?"

"Well, technically," Sparrow began. "You kinda did trick us, because you _did_ say –"

Salazar glared at him. " _You_ will not speak again, or I will cut your tongue out."

Jack shut up.

"But you don't need her," Henry gulped. "Let her go! Give her back the journal and let her go! It's Jack you want!"

"Ah," Salazar turned to where Carina was still standing stiffly behind Cortez's cutlass. Lieutenant Lesaro had remained next to her, watching Cortez and his eager use of the blade he held with some distrust. "See, Señorita? The lover, come to plead for the lady." He turned back to Henry. "And yet, I do not know if I am willing to let her go."

"But you have Jack! What do you need Carina for?" Henry cried.

Salazar had never intended to let her go, and the boy's terror for her safety was fulfilling his need to see hurt - especially hurt in those who were close to Sparrow - in the most satisfying way.

"Are you really asking, boy," Salazar smiled mockingly, wanting to twist the knife, "What I would need a woman for? Are you that innocent?"

Jack made a face. "Urgh."

Salazar whipped his head around, instantly enraged. "Did you say something, Sparrow?"

"Hector Barbossa wants to kill you!" Henry blurted out. "He's back there, on shore, plotting how to kill you!"

"Barbossa is a frightened old fool!" Salazar made a disparaging sound. "He carried my message to you, and is of no further interest to me!"

"But he's planning to go after the –"

"Henry!" Carina knew immediately what he'd been about to say, and had cried out in warning.

Salazar raised an eyebrow at her interference, but was distracted again by the boy's insistence.

"He's planning to destroy you!"

"It matters not, what he plans." Salazar said dismissively, before nodding at Santos. "But I do not need three. Two is enough, especially when one of them is Sparrow."

"No!" Henry struggled in vain again helplessly as Santos grinned, and drew back his sword.

"You're making a mistake!" Jack suddenly shouted out in a show of stupid valiance, "Give us the girl mate, an' leave! And I'll let you live! _I will let you live_!"

The words made Salazar go completely still.

The entire ship's crew fell silent.

Even La María herself seemed to recognise them, creaking her hatred in an echoing retort.

They were almost the same words that had been called out minutes before they'd crashed in the Devil's Triangle. Words that had echoed for decades in Salazar's crumbling sanity. And now they were being said to him again.

Only this time – the echoing memories those words produced suddenly aligned, allowing him clear cut sight of countless other possibilities – and Salazar was, for once, curiously self-aware.

His men were rigid with tension, every single one of them expecting him to kill the Sparrow.

Salazar stood still, considering.

He had everything. The Sparrow before him. His sword in his hand. Vengeance that was his to take. Right now. Vengeance that he had imagined, had practiced, over and over again, with every wretch he'd ever killed in the Devil's Triangle...

And yet, he couldn't trust it. If he had learned anything in the past three decades, it was that fate rarely worked in his favour. Something was off.

"It's me what killed yer, mate!" Sparrow went on desperately. "If yer gonna kill someone, should be me!"

Salazar looked suspiciously at him.

The Sparrow wanted to die? Was... eager... for death?

" _You_ –" Salazar said slowly. "Are sacrificing yourself – for them?"

Despair washed over the pirate's face, but he nodded, "It's what you came to do, innit?"

Salazar frowned. This was not what he expected. He'd expected the Sparrow to plead and beg for his life. Not offer his life in exchange for someone else's. Pirates did not do that. Something was wrong. Very wrong. And there was only one other reason Salazar could think of, for why Sparrow would be doing this… a distraction. A trick. _A trap_.

"Dios mío!" he turned sharply, and looked in every direction around the Silent Mary.

And sure enough, there it was. A black ship, sailing out from the other side of the island, and heading in a north-easterly direction.

"I know that ship..." Salazar stared.

The men murmured among themselves as they watched the Black Pearl shrinking rapidly into the distance.

"Barbossa!"

"He is escaping!"

"Where is he going?" Salazar growled, turning back to face his prisoners – just in time to see Sparrow trying hurriedly to cut through their ropes with a dagger he'd had slipped up his sleeve.

"¡Hijo de puta!" he swore.

At once, Salazar used the hilt of his sword to knock Sparrow out.

"¡El cabrón trataba de escapar!" he hissed as Sparrow's head drooped forward, and turned to Henry. "Very clever! Where is Barbossa going? What is Sparrow's plan?"

But Henry shook his head, terrified and yet refusing to speak.

Salazar pressed the tip of his sword over the boy's heart. A small trickle of red beaded under the sharp point.

"Stop!" Carina cried out. "Don't hurt him!"

"See how the lady begs for your life, hombre?" Salazar sneered. "Perhaps she cares for you, eh?"

Henry gritted his teeth in pain. "I'll never tell you!"

Looking at the boy's determined face, he suddenly paused. An idea was starting to form in Salazar's mind. He remembered what Barbossa had told him, shortly before he'd released him. The one thing the Sparrow thought would keep him safe from Salazar. He looked from Henry back to Carina, and then at the unconscious pirate. Carina had said the Sparrow had been helping her find something...

Salazar felt he was beginning to understand.

He lowered his sword and faced her.

"Señorita," he purred.

She shivered.

"We had been having such a delightful conversation, before we were interrupted. But – ah! You were so rude!" He moved slowly towards her, not stopping until he was close enough for his weightless hair to brush against her face. "And now, I am afraid, I cannot be so polite anymore."

She did not look at him, but he saw the way she swallowed involuntarily, the way her lips locked together tightly. For the first time, he noticed that whenever she pressed her lips in just that way, a stubborn little dimple would appear in one cheek. It was foolish of her, but he could almost admire the way she was trying to hold out against him. He wondered briefly how far he would have to push her before she broke.

He tapped the journal gently on the side of her jaw until she looked at him. "This journal… it leads to something very, very important, no? You will tell me what it is, or I start to cut." Salazar raised his voice, making sure the boy heard every word. "First your clothes. Then your skin. Then a finger. Maybe later, a hand. Until you tell me. And you _will_ tell me, Señorita, because the pain will be too much."

She swallowed again, but otherwise her face was a blank mask.

"I'm _not_ ," she lifted her chin. “Afraid of you.”

"It would be a pity," he told her softly, "For your stubbornness to cause you pain."

He lifted his sword in a leisurely arc. He did not have to wait long.

"The Trident of Poseidon!" Henry cried out in fear.

Salazar's head snapped immediately towards the boy. He'd suspected Sparrow's plan - but to actually have it confirmed so quickly - it was almost disappointing. Briefly, he thought he would have enjoyed seeing how far he could push the Señorita.

"Henry!" Carina exclaimed sharply. "You shouldn't have told them!"

"I'm sorry, Carina," Henry slumped, before adding to Salazar, "The journal leads to the Trident. It's what we were looking for with Jack. It's what Barbossa wants!"

" _Barbossa_ wants the Trident?" Salazar still couldn't believe it. Barbossa must be even more foolish and reckless than he'd supposed. "And how does he expect to find it?"

"He – he has a – a compass." Henry stuttered. "Anything he wants – it – it shows him where it is."

His men had started to murmur around him.

"The Trident," Lesaro whispered. "Capitán, if we found the Trident first…"

The murmurs became louder.

"It could free us!"

"We could go home..."

"We could live again!"

Salazar lowered his sword, his head half-turned away from Carina, listening to the words of his men.

"You could stop him!" Henry urged. "Spare us, and we'll help you find the Trident before Barbossa does!"

Salazar glared. "You were here to distract me from Barbossa!"

Henry shook his head adamantly.

"I just came to get Carina back. Barbossa was supposed to be the distraction, was supposed to attack, while we escaped with her!" Henry made a face. "But he obviously changed his mind."

Salazar laughed dryly. "What did you expect? He's a pirate."

Henry took a deep breath. "Capitán Salazar, the Trident gives you complete control of the seas."

"I already have complete control of the seas, boy!" Salazar scoffed.

Henry was undeterred.

"But it can also break your curse, and – and you could get your revenge!" He looked earnestly at the Capitán. "But not if Barbossa gets to it first. He plans to destroy you with it, because you destroyed his ships!"

Salazar studied the boy. "Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes," Henry swallowed, "After you took Carina – after you sent him ashore to bring Sparrow back – Barbossa told us his plans. I wanted him to help us first but – well..." he nodded helplessly in the direction of the rapidly disappearing Black Pearl.

Salazar turned back to Carina again, his eyes ablaze.

"So, Señorita," he said. "This is the true purpose of your journal? To show where the Trident of Poseidon is?"

"Yes." Carina saw no choice but to confirm what Henry had already confessed. "My father meant for me to find it."

"You are truly seeking it?"

"I am."

"You know where it is?"

"I know how to navigate us to it." She pressed her lips together, and Salazar saw her dimple re-appear. "But I am the only one on this ship who can."

"You?" Salazar scowled. " _You_ alone can find it?"

"But not if you hurt them!" she glared back at him. "If you hurt either Jack or Henry, I will _never_ tell you where it is."

Capitán Salazar's vision clouded over with dangerous black rage.

This was not how Salazar had wanted things to go. All he'd wanted was to find Jack Sparrow. Torture him, for a _very_ long time. And then kill him. In Salazar's wildest fantasies, he'd even hoped to find a way to trap Sparrow himself in the Devil's Triangle, just as Salazar had been, forever and ever.

But none of his revenge was possible now.

Because the Triangle had crumbled into the sea.

And because this... this barely-clothed woman, and this annoying boy were here, bringing with them a hope that their curse could be broken – but only at the cost of delaying his revenge on Sparrow.

And yet.

The Trident.

The Trident of Poseidon had the power to set them free.

And Salazar wanted to live…

"Capitán," Lesaro spoke. "We have followed you. We have given our lives for you. Let us have this, please. Let us have this one chance."

Salazar paced again, his hair soaring wildly in his sudden movements. "She could be lying. They could _all_ be lying."

Cortez interrupted. "Then we kill them, Capitán."

Carina stiffened, her gaze fixed on the Capitán, waiting in trepidation for his response.

Salazar longed to walk in Sparrow’s blood. Longed to give an order to end all three lives, and take his chances finding the Trident himself. But.

His eyes slid involuntarily towards the Señorita. She was so pale, so calm. He hesitated to give such an order, his sword remaining hovering above the deck, poised to rap out the pattern that would irrevocably spell their death sentence.

To the crew’s surprise, Lesaro stepped forward to agree with Cortez, “That… is true. We could kill them.”

Salazar stopped, glancing between Lesaro and Cortez, incredulous. "Even the woman?"

Lesaro glanced briefly at Carina, before pretending to shrug again carelessly.

"If the Trident is not real," Lesaro answered carefully in Spanish, knowing their prisoners would be less likely to understand, "We can kill her, and the boy, and Sparrow, just like you planned. But if the Trident is real… then we can be free, and afterwards we can kill them anyway."

Salazar wasn't entirely fooled by his Lieutenant’s attempt to appear uncaring. He suspected that, if it came to it, Lesaro would certainly stand between the Señorita and himself. But he couldn't deny the simple logic Lesaro had used.

Salazar looked over the grey faces of his men. Men who had died and been cursed into living dead ghosts at their deaths. Because they had followed his orders. Who even now, were risking everything, following his orders. Who _still_ followed him, even when their country, their King, even their families, must be too changed, too old or too… dead to remember them anymore.

There was a growing discomfort within him, an ache he'd had since leaving the Devil's Triangle. He had not truly allowed himself to feel it the whole time they'd been trapped. But he felt it now: not rage, or vengeance, or regret, or despair.

It was _guilt_.

Guilt for what his decisions had led them to. Guilt for what it had cost them.

Salazar considered Lesaro's words in another long minute of silence. It was true. Either way, they had nothing to lose. And either way, he _would_ make sure Sparrow died. But he couldn't deny his men a chance to be freed of their curse. Slowly, even though at his core the vengeance still howled for blood, he nodded at Lesaro.

"It is as you say. We can at least try," he said to his Lieutenant, before declaring loudly to his men. "We will seek the Trident. If we can find it, you will be freed. If not..." his eyes met Henry's. "There will be no mercy."

"And you, pretty Señorita," he turned to Carina. "You will begin by taking us there. Now."

"You won't harm them?"

Salazar's grip on his sword tightened, but he kept his answer level. "You have my word. They will not be harmed... if you take us to the Trident."

"Then I'll need to see your charts," Carina said tightly. "And I'll be needing my journal back."

"Por supuesto," Salazar moved to stand in front of her, purposefully doing it so fast her eyes widened and her mouth parted in shock.

In silence, he handed her the journal.

She reached up to take it, but Salazar held on, pulling her closer to bend his black lips to her ear.

"I will spare Sparrow for now, Carina. But if you are lying about the Trident, I promise you, you will _all_ pay for it."  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Puedes entrar – Come in
> 
> Hijo de puta – Son of a bitch
> 
> Pobre Niño - Poor little boy
> 
> El cabrón trataba de escaper – bastard was trying to escape
> 
> Por supuesto – By all means
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: Capitán Salazar recognises the Black Pearl, because the Black Pearl was originally the Wicked Wench - the ship he chased to his doom.
> 
> OTHER RANDOM NOTES:
> 
> Jack had an incredibly protective streak when it came to Carina and Henry throughout DMTNT, something I chose to re-create moments of in this chapter. It'd be interesting to delve into his reasons behind the protectiveness - if he is even aware of his own reasoning, that is...


	5. Of Chronometers And Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish Translations and Historical Notes of Interest at the end of the Chapter

_The Next Day..._

* * *

 

Capitán Salazar paced in his cabin, sword in hand. There was a strange atmosphere aboard La María Silenciosa.

A restless energy, permeating the entire ship, as they'd begun to speed forward in the wake of the Black Pearl. Everywhere, Capitán Salazar overheard his men whispering, snatches of 'Trident' and 'the girl' and 'freedom' peppering the air. It irked him, that the conversation of every man aboard seemed to be about it. About _her_.

At the mast, he would see them, gathering in twos and threes, whispering and glancing up at the ship's wheel, only to scatter back to their duties as he approached.

When he retreated into his cabin, he would hear the quiet conversations between Lesaro and Magda out on the quarterdeck; their low-spoken but tentatively growing hope that their time suffering under the Devil's Triangle curse was drawing to an end.

As he stalked up the deck towards the bowsprit, seeking somewhere – anywhere – that would grant him a few minutes' peace and quiet, even there she was talked of! He'd come upon Moss, whispering earnestly to Bracero, "I knew it as soon as I saw her! Señorita Smyth is a gift! The Blessed Virgin herself has had pity on us, and has made it so that the Señorita would be brought aboard to help us!"

They had both leapt to frightened attention when they realised Salazar was standing there glaring at them. He had shouted at them to get back to their work or else he would pin them to the hull as punishment. Moss had tried to blurt out a hasty apology, but Salazar had snarled back harshly, causing them both to swiftly disappear.

He snarled again thinking of the naivety of the young officer, stabbing his sword angrily at the floorboards as he stalked around the cabin, in an attempt to alleviate his feelings. That woman, a _gift_? Dios mío, but it was enough to make him sick!

Just now, outside his cabin door, he'd even heard Cortez daring to argue with Lesaro about Señorita Smyth being allowed to navigate, and Lesaro just as adamant in defending her.

"Está mal! Una inglesa, and a woman, navigating?" Cortez was disgusted. "Why do you permit this, Lieutenant? It is an insult! You've stood here watching this whole time, and not said a word! Let one of us take over! Tell her to stand aside, and –"

"I will do no such thing," Lesaro had interrupted coolly. "She has promised to take us to the Trident, and that is what she will do."

"Then why don't you force her to tell us! And after she tells us, put her in chains with the others – "

"¿Perdon? Did you say 'force'?" Lesaro's voice was pure ice. "You are suggesting I use 'force' on the Señorita?"

"No, no, Lieutenant," Cortez hurriedly said. "I – "

"Bien." Lesaro said curtly. "Now attend to the main deck. Santos will need to be relieved from his duties."

"But why doesn't La María throw her off?" Cortez grumbled. "To allow herself to be touched by an English – es tan mal!"

"¡Silencio!" Lesaro had snapped back. "The Capitán has allowed it! And it is clear, La María Silenciosa has no objection! So you will also treat the Señorita with respect, Cortez, or you will answer to me, understand?"

Cortez hadn't argued after that, and Salazar knew why. Everyone onboard knew of Lieutenant Lesaro's history. No one had ever, in all their time together, questioned his flawless chivalry towards women: and no one would challenge him now over the Señorita.

Because they all knew Lesaro's past.

What he had lost, prior to serving under Salazar.

Salazar slowed, staring at the cabin door, as if he could see through it to the woman standing at the ship's wheel even now, and the Lieutenant who he knew would be standing protectively nearby. He knew what Lesaro had been through. He just did not think of it. Or at least, he hadn't. Until now.

His Lieutenant had lost the woman he loved. The circumstances had been tragic to say the least. Returning from a long voyage, Lesaro had been greeted with the awful news that she had died. Forced during the Lieutenant's absence into a marriage she did not want, illness had taken her swiftly following the wedding night. But worse, the circumstances around her death had been suspicious enough to warrant Lesaro, pale and broken-hearted, to seek out his old friend Armando Salazar for help. And he had. Together, they had quietly sought justice against those responsible for her untimely end. And if any of the villagers had guessed the real cause of several mysterious and sudden deaths of persons connected to the young bride, they were smart enough to pretend otherwise. Afterwards, he'd called in more than one favour he'd been owed to make sure Lieutenant Lesaro sailed under him on his next assignment.

It had been so long ago.

Salazar's memory was cloudy, but he was certain, even after so many years, that Señorita Smyth looked nothing like the woman Lesaro still held in his heart. But there were other similarities. The same sort of inner strength. The same sharp intelligence. The same tendency to be outspoken. But also, the same slight stature, the same delicately boned hands.

No wonder Lesaro rarely left the quarterdeck now. Salazar would have had to be blind, to miss the way Lesaro had appointed himself the task of being her personal guard. Even when he was not trying to assist as officer of the watch beside her, Lesaro was content to remain close. No matter how much Cortez grumbled about his refusal to object to an Englishwoman steering.

So much contention surrounding her... was she even aware of how much trouble, how much change she was causing?

Even the usually blank-faced Santos had been different lately, going about his tasks with a small, irritatingly smug smile on his lips. Even though he and Officer Valdés had been the ones to capture her, it seemed that rather than being against the freedom she had to navigate La María Silenciosa, they now enjoyed the honour of almost the entire crew's gratitude for bringing the Señorita aboard.

"She will break our Curse," was the only thing Santos had said, but it was the quiet awe with which he said it that made Salazar grit his teeth in annoyance. Santos was rarely moved, but even he now held the Señorita in high regard. When it had been him, Capitán Salazar, who had permitted her to live in the first place!

_How did she do it? How did she make such a change in his entire crew in such a short time?_

Salazar started to pace faster around the cabin again, his frustration hardening into rage as he tried to work it out. There had even been whole hours at a time that he'd realised he himself hadn't given Sparrow a single thought.

The day before, the pirate had been put out of sight in the brig below deck, chained securely to prevent escape – along with the annoying boy. But every time he remembered this, it took all of Capitán Salazar's willpower not to go and drive his sword through the bars into Sparrow's chest.

He could not.

 _She_ had warned him what would happen if he did.

_Carina._

He ground his teeth as he thought of her.

"Me saca de quicio!" he muttered aloud.

He stopped pacing to stare at the charts, still spread exactly the same way she'd left them yesterday afternoon. He remembered the way she'd leant over the table, primly scrutinising his charts, as though expecting to find errors. Her long dark hair had tumbled forward as she'd traced a delicate finger over one of the maps, one eyebrow arching sceptically.

"Is something the matter?" he'd hissed at her, irritated.

And such a look she'd given him then! Blue eyes blazing, rose-coloured lips parting in anger, as though about to let loose a torrent of irate words, looking so striking that she'd stolen further speech from him.

"I don't trust you." She'd changed the subject abruptly. "So let me tell you again," she straightened, stepping away from the maps on the table and facing him confidently. "From this second on, if there's even so much as a scratch on either Henry, or Jack, this –" she held up the journal, "Goes overboard. And you won't get another scrap of assistance from me to find the Trident."

"You dare..." He couldn't resist tapping his sword against the floorboards, an almost reflex reaction, "... to threaten me?"

She lifted her chin up in that way she had, completely unfazed by the tapping of his sword; she didn't even know what it meant yet, and he was sorely tempted to show her what tapping his sword in front of his men could do – but she only pursed her lips in disapproval.

"It's not a threat." She'd said coolly. "It is simply what I will do if you hurt either of them."

"You lie, Señorita!" He'd growled, swiftly closing the space between them. "You wouldn't dare part with the only possession you have of your father's!"

"I would!" She stared back defiantly. "Because their lives are more important!"

He'd stopped short of touching her, at a loss again. How was she so unafraid of him?

He leaned over her, disbelief colouring his words, "The life of a pirate is more important than your father's journal, Carina? More important than your dreams?"

"All life is." She'd swallowed convulsively when he'd leaned over her, but rallied admirably to say, "Something you, apparently, have forgotten!"

And it had been then, staring down at her, when her pupils had widened, and her lips had pressed tightly together, that he had the strangest urge to reach up and press his thumb into that dimple that always appeared whenever her lips pressed into that pretty frown…

"I'll see you at the wheel, Capitán," she'd said crisply, turning away.

And he'd been rendered so speechless once more, so confused by his strange urge to touch her, and then the curt way she'd dismissed him – as though _she_ were the Capitán, and _he_ was her Lieutenant – that she'd been able to sweep out past him, leaving him alone in the cabin.

She'd resolutely stood at the ship's wheel since then, unswervingly dedicated in her quest to navigate them to the Trident.

It rubbed at him.

It annoyed him.

He felt like he was losing control.

In an effort to quell his curse's rising need to resort to bloodshed, he rapped his sword loudly on the floorboards in a distinctive pattern, calling for his Lieutenant to come to him.

"Lieutenant," Capitán Salazar addressed Lesaro as soon as he appeared in the cabin, "What is our present course?"

Lesaro recognised Salazar's choleric mood immediately, and answered with the low, reasonable tone he employed whenever his Capitán was on edge. "I believe the lady has been navigating us out from Anguilla, and then in a Northeasterly direction from there."

Capitán Salazar began to trace the route Lesaro indicated on their charts. "And can she tell how far it will be?"

"She estimates it is some twelve hundred nautical miles from our current position, give or take."

"The Mary's speed is holding?"

It had been a nagging concern in the back of his mind, not long after the Devil's Triangle had crumbled around them, that La María's powers of speed and sentience might similarly crumble, the longer they sailed away from the site of their former prison.

"We are making excellent time sir," Lesaro reassured him. "No less than fifteen knots per hour at present."

"So," Salazar calculated, "We should arrive in three days."

"That is what Señorita Smyth has advised, Capitán: that if we continue at our present speed, we should outstrip the other ship by tomorrow."

"Outstrip, Lieutenant?" Salazar lifted surprised eyes up at Lesaro. "Not attack?"

"There are humans onboard." Lesaro said. "I would… caution, against any hostile action." He was almost apologetic as he added, "The Señorita did warn all the Officers on deck, that if the prisoners sustain any injuries, any at all, that she would not help us anymore."

Salazar's gaze hardened. She had warned them too? As if she was their _superior_? The arrogance! And yet, Lesaro did not appear offended at all. Salazar was beginning to wonder if this was truly the same Lieutenant Lesaro he'd known for the past three decades. "And you... advise _me..._ to pass them by? A shipful of _pirates_?"

"I do." Lesaro was firm. "The risk of injury to the prisoners is too great."

Salazar's wheezing rasp sounded in the silence that fell between them. Lesaro waited, his expression calm, even while his single-eyed gaze could not quite meet the bright amber one of his Capitán's. It was something Salazar had never, in all the decades since they'd died, expected his Lieutenant to do: to be unwilling to kill. But here he was, advising _against_ attacking and killing pirates.

"I have... ascertained that the Trident's location is linked to an island." Lesaro offered, after the silence had stretched on a little too long. His single eye slid down to gaze at the charts. "She promises it will be only a short time. We will overtake Barbossa, and then we will see this island. Two days, Capitán. Three at most."

Lesaro's eye lifted to meet Salazar's again, and there was no mistaking the cold ferocity there; a ferocity that was familiar to Salazar, and comforting in its familiarity. "Once we have the Trident, we will be free to sink _ese maldito nave_ to the bottom of the sea."

Salazar nodded, already feeling calmer. Lesaro was right. Once they had the Trident, they could crush that damned black ship to pieces. Ideally, with Sparrow chained up on it. And afterwards, even though he was a little hazy on how this part would work, they could all finally break their Curse and go home. It was not going to be long until they would have the Trident, after all. When one had spent over thirty years trapped in one place, what was two or three more days on the open sea?

"I want the crew to continue in rotating shifts, Lieutenant." He held Lesaro's gaze. "That includes you. La María could be even faster, but for that her hull still needs to be cleaned. You will all share the work."

If Lesaro was disappointed that he was being ordered to leave the quarterdeck for periods of time, he was careful not to show it.

"And... the lady, Capitán?" Lesaro hesitated, looking towards the cabin door.

For some reason, that look irked Salazar. "What of her?"

Lesaro turned back to face Salazar squarely. "Eventually, she will require sleep."

He considered that. "Then at sunset, she is to retire here to rest in my quarters, and I will navigate. She can sleep until midnight. I will decide from there."

"She is loathe to let anyone else navigate, Capitán." Lesaro gave a small shrug, but it was clear he was worried what Salazar's reaction was going to be to his next words. "Magda and I have attempted to offer to navigate in her place, to allow her to rest, but she refuses. She has also been unwilling to have our assistance as officers of the watch."

Salazar raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"I believe she is concerned," Lesaro would not meet Salazar's eyes again, "That if she explains the precise details of where she is navigating to someone else, then… she is effectively endangering the lives of Sparrow and the boy."

Salazar scowled and stalked from the cabin at once, his grip on his sword tight.

 

 

All of a sudden, the Capitán's cabin door slammed open on the quarterdeck.

Capitán Salazar stood there, the power of his curse almost palpable, and finely honed to precision as his red gaze sought out the object of his rage.

 

Carina startled and straightened at the loud noise, clutching her chronometer tightly to her chest.

"Señorita Smyth," The Capitán growled as he strode towards Carina. "What is that in your hand?"

But before she could answer him, Magda was standing directly between them.

"Capitán," Magda smoothly intervened, "Por favor, but you know no crew member is allowed to address the navigator directly except the Officer of the Watch –"

"Do not lecture me, Magda, on my own rules! I have no patience for it!" He all but thrust him out of the way, intent on confronting Carina. "Well, Señorita?"

"It's nothing!" Carina answered angrily, dropping her fist to hide what she held.

Undeterred, Magda insisted – to Salazar's astonishment – on moving to stand at Carina's side, and in a placating tone said, "Perdón, Capitán, but as Officer of the Watch, I must remind you that in the past your orders were that not even you were allowed to –"

"Show me!" Salazar ignored Magda as he pressed in, towering over the slight woman. "What are you hiding?"

She shook her head mutely, her eyes bright with both fear and that irritating obstinacy of hers.

" _Show me_!"

"No!" She faltered, and her hands trembled; but she returned his glare with one of her own.

His grip on his sword was so tight the handle was going to leave permanent marks in his dead flesh. He angled it up to hold it in front of her face: a clear threat that made her pale.

"Capitán!" Magda exclaimed.

And yet, she still refused to show him.

Without warning, Salazar shot his other hand out and gripped her wrist hard, making her cry out sharply.

"Capitán!" Lesaro cried behind him. "Capitán, no!"

But Salazar was too angry to care, squeezing her wrist until she had no choice but to open her palm.

She was holding a timepiece.

"A memento from a lover, Carina?" he sneered in distaste. "How long have you had this?" His eyes fell on her thin shift. "And where could you have hidden it, dressed as you are?"

"I do wish, Capitán Salazar," she blushed hotly, "That you would stop referring to my – my clothing!"

"And how can I not," he answered, "When there is so little of it!"

Furious, she closed her fingers over the timepiece and wrenched her wrist from his grasp, pulling it close to her chest. "I refuse to be provoked by you anymore," she retorted. "But if you must know, I am using a chronometer!"

"¡Capitán!" Lesaro swiftly stood at Salazar's side. "You must allow the Señorita to return to her navigating."

He tilted his head slightly in the direction of the main deck, where Salazar realised for the first time that several of the crew, including Santos and Moss, had stopped to stare.

They weren't staring because he had lost his temper. They had seen him do that often enough. No, he knew they were staring because the Señorita had cried out, and he, Capitán Salazar, had made her do so. And he suddenly saw again, with powerful clarity, just how attentive they all were to Señorita Smyth. How much expectation and hope they had all placed in her promise to take them to the Trident. Her promise to break their Curse.

"You say that your rules must be followed on La María Silenciosa, Capitán," Lesaro said quietly, "And your rule has always been that the Navigator is never to be addressed directly, because they hold the entire ship in their hands."

"Sí, sí, sí, no need to quote my own rules back to me Lieutenant, I know my own orders!"

Irritated, Salazar shot a brief look at Lesaro, who had shifted slightly to stand with Magda – clearly positioning himself to physically intervene on behalf of Carina, if needed. Magda was also tense, as though preparing himself to move quickly in her defense; and he could feel the keen attention of the entire crew still on them, as his gaze settled back on Carina.

Carina, who was still obstinately clutching the timepiece in her fist, her face set forward, pretending to ignore him as she resolutely determined to keep steering, even when her own life was in peril.

The sense that his control was slipping through his fingers made the red rage threaten to erupt out of him. His sword was still angled up, a few inches more and it could be drawing blood – but the sight of her pale cheek, the set of her mouth, the way she had rolled back her slim shoulders… as he looked at her, the curse inside him surprisingly settled, and the rage died down.

"¡Bien!" He finally, grudgingly, allowed. "Lesaro, take the helm! I will speak with the Señorita."

Lesaro and Magda paused, their misgiving at his sudden change of demeanour showing clearly on their faces.

Carina's eyes flicked towards him, but she did not move.

"I will speak with you, now!" His tone warned her not to hesitate again. "I will know more of this – chronometer you carry!"

Reluctantly, Carina had no choice but to step away from the wheel.

Seeming just as reluctant, Lesaro took her place. She could almost feel the silent communication between Magda and Lesaro, crackling in the air behind her, as she took a step towards Salazar.

Salazar turned to the side, leaning on his sword as he did, and gestured for her to walk with him, towards portside of the quarterdeck. He did not speak, seeming to prefer to wait until they were as far as physically possible from the helm. Far enough away to prevent being overheard by the others.

Carina pretended to look out over the horizon, as though she saw something of great interest there, but in reality she was very frightened. Her journal was still at the wheel, neatly tucked away underneath. It had become too cumbersome to hold the wheel with both it _and_ the chronometer, so she'd carefully torn a blank page from the journal to work out her course, and now had that paper squeezed in one hand; with her chronometer in the other. She hoped her sweating palms wouldn't smudge the pencilled calculations on the paper too much.

And she really hoped he wouldn't ask her again how she'd gotten the chronometer. She could not tell him of her secret visit to Henry and Jack – under the ruse of requiring privacy for 'lady's matters' – below deck in the dark hours before dawn. Or how she'd had to extract her chronometer out of Henry's trousers, where he'd hidden it from Salazar's men. Or how bloody awkward and embarrassing it'd been, squeezing her hand down while Henry squirmed against the bars in his chains.

"So," he turned to her at the railing. "Show me this timepiece."

She stiffened. "It's not a timepiece, it's a chronometer!"

"It's a timepiece! An arrogant vanity!" He scoffed. "Useless!"

"Not at all!" Carina was indignant. "How else am I to be sure where we are going during the day?"

"Foolishness! Give it here." His hand snaked forward again, as though to snatch it out of her hand.

"Excuse me, Capitán Salazar!" Carina bristled, instinctively whipping it behind her back. "But I have found it to be extremely accurate."

Aware that the eyes of his men were on them again, Salazar resisted the urge to physically force her to hand it to him. "In the single day you have been aboard my ship, you can tell it is accurate?"

"I have tested it." She said in a superior tone of voice. "By my calculations, it is accurate to within a third of a second."

He scowled again. "I want to see it!"

And still, she hesitated, her blue eyes searching his face, distrust plain in her expression.

The Capitán thumped his sword against the deck impatiently.

Several crew members looked over in shock, but Salazar only shook his head slightly, and tapped his sword again, instantly revoking the former order. It annoyed him that his frustration had driven him to unconsciously rap out his most used pattern, a simple pattern that meant, _kill_. And still she stood there, stubborn as ever, and completely unaware of what had nearly come to pass as a result of his impatience.

"I want you to show me how you do these calculations!" He hissed at her. "I want to see how it is done!"

Tentatively, knowing she again had no real choice, she held it out to him.

He eyed her once more as he took it from her. The defeated turn in her mouth did not escape him; and yet his triumph in her surrender was curiously flat: he was surprised that he did not enjoy it.

He looked down at the chronometer in his hand.

"This time." He held it up closer, the precise clicks of its inner cogs and wheels just audible over the sound of the sea. "What time has it been set it for?"

"It is still on Saint Martin's time."

The Capitán looked up at the sun above them, then down at the watch. His brow furrowed. "You are using this to calculate longitude?"

"Yes. I have put our longitude at precisely fifty-four degrees and fifty six minutes West."

"How do you know this?" He was incredulous. "You do this –" he gestured at her head, "– in your mind?"

"Of course not." She showed him the wrinkled scrap of thin paper in her other hand, covered in her neat handwritten calculations.

He single-handedly sheathed his sword and took it from her, eyes rapidly moving over her figures. He looked from them to the chronometer he held and back again, disbelief in his expression.

Carina couldn't help herself: his incredulity was far too provoking. "I realise your methods of navigation may be several decades old –"

"Three." He snapped. "Three decades."

"Three then. But there have been changes since you – since then. I am perfectly capable of navigating us with the chronometer. From your crew's measurements of our speed and my estimation of the direction of the currents, we are already well on our way."

The Capitán did not miss the glint of pride in her voice, or the brightness in her eye.

"Given, of course, that your ship continues at this amazing speed," she added.

"But how can you trust this?" Salazar was curious now. "Timepieces like this –" he ran his thumb over the smooth face of the chronometer, "Do not work at sea. They are always imprecise."

Carina shook her head and spoke eagerly. "Oh no, not at all. When I was in London, Captain Coram –"

"¿Quién?" Salazar scowled. "Who is that?"

"The man who built the orphanage I grew up in," Carina explained. "He met with a watchmaker who'd spent his entire life trying to make a precise timepiece to be used to navigate at sea. This is a marine chronometer. He gave it to him as a gift, and Captain Coram gave it to me when I left for Saint Martin. It is supposed to withstand temperature variations, rough weather, everything – and, unlike other watches, it even continues running while you wind it up. You can trust that it is as accurate as humanly possible. He even made some of its inner parts out of diamond, so it lasts."

Without thinking, she reached out and took it from the Capitán's hand, brushing her fingers across his palm as she did. He tilted his head at her, eyebrows furrowing in surprise at the lack of fear she had at touching his dead, grey flesh. Carina turned it over, showing him the back of it as she went on, not even noticing the way he'd reacted.

"The springs and wheels inside keep it from being affected by rough handling," she explained. "And see, the watchmaker even put his name on the back. John Harrison."

Her bright eyes looked up into his: and for the first time they weren't angry, or disapproving, or afraid. No, they were – elated. There was no mistaking her enjoyment in talking to him of this invention. Her enthusiasm faded a little under his silent, intense gaze.

"Perhaps, once all this is over," her voice became small, "If you still wish… you could always commission him to make one for you..."

She tried to say it lightly, even though she had to know such a thing would be an impossibility.

He could hear the troubled fear underneath her words. In spite of her attempt to appear offhanded, he could see that she was clearly thinking of what would happen to her once she led him to the Trident.

Salazar knew his plans for Sparrow. His plans to sink Sparrow's ship. His plans to see Barbossa and every wretched pirate aboard that vessel drown while he watched. But he had not made plans for Carina. Until now, he had not really considered what her fate would be, after she led them to the Trident. He knew what he had threatened her with if she failed... but all of a sudden, the thought of killing her did not seem as palatable as before.

Before, it had been simple rage at having his plans changed.

But now… if he were honest with himself… she impressed him.

That a woman as delicate and beautiful as Carina would have it in her to hit as hard she'd hit him with the cup…

That a woman as obviously intelligent and dedicated to the sciences as she was, was able to recover as quickly as she had when faced with someone like him – whose existence could not be anything but supernatural…

She was such an intriguing contradiction.

Perhaps, once it was all over, he could spare her...

"Perhaps," he agreed.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Dios mío - My God
> 
> ¡Está mal! – It's wrong
> 
> Una inglesa – an English
> 
> Es tan mal! – It's so wrong
> 
> Me saca de quicio! – It makes me mad!
> 
> Ese maldito nave - That damn ship
> 
> ¿Quién? – Who?
> 
>  
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES:
> 
> Cleaning the Hull: Ships that spent a long time at sea often had barnacles and other things start to grow on their hull; and this did weigh ships down greatly and affect their speed.
> 
> Officer of the Watch: The etiquette aboard the quarterdeck was strict. While it could vary from Captain to Captain, I imagine Salazar upheld the strictest etiquette amongst his men. Generally, quarterdeck etiquette was that No One could address the helmsman when he was steering at the wheel, not even the Captain: only the Officer of the Watch. Therefore any communications were done via the Officer of the Watch, who stood at the helmsman's right hand side.
> 
> Captain Thomas Coram (c. 1668 – 29 March 1751) is a real historical figure, who received a donation from the King of England to build an orphanage in London. He created the London Foundling Hospital to look after abandoned children. For the context of this fic, Carina left London in February (a generally good month to begin a voyage in, as heavy rains begin May-December, and hurricane season is at its peak in September-October), so she is currently unaware that the man who rescued her is in the last days of his life.
> 
> John Harrison (3 April 1693 – 24 March 1776) is also a real historical figure, a clockmaker and inventor who dedicated most of his life to designing and making better navigational equipment for the British navy. He invented the marine chronometer, which solved the problem of calculating longitude while at sea. I am bending believability, I know, because the earliest of Harrison's inventions were far too big to hold; but let's imagine that Carina is holding a prototype of a smaller version that he invented in his search for a more convenient chronometer, here in this chapter. 
> 
>  
> 
> THREE DECADES: I am well aware that the PotC wiki states Capitán Salazar's original year of death (in the Devil's Triangle) as 1708. I know we usually take PotC's ability historical accuracy with a generous pinch of salt, but if you're interested in why I'm putting Salazar's death and Curse at a later date, read on.
> 
> In the first 10 years of 1700, Spain's Political Climate was too uncertain to feasibly warrant the kind of attention and money that Capitán Salazar's Silent Mary would have required, and Piracy hadn't even begun to flourish to the point where it would need a massive warship like the Silent Mary to stop it. Moreover, pirate flags - the black flags with the white skull & crossbones we see burning while Salazar talks about his hatred for them in canon - Weren't Even a Thing until 1717. Therefore the historical context means Salazar couldn't reasonably have been sailing before 1717 at the earliest.


	6. Of Nights and Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Endure The Bitter, a one shot I wrote back in January 2018, (now deleted but formerly written with Heart Sick in mind), has been incorporated into this chapter. Please tell me what you think!
> 
> Spanish Translations are at the End of the Chapter.

By the next day, Capitán Salazar and Carina had reached an uneasy agreement. After showing him the chronometer and how it worked, he had offered her a truce that would allow her to rest: Carina would navigate during the day, using her chronometer, and Salazar would navigate during the night, towards the constellation she finally, and very nervously, had pointed out to him.

She'd done so only after reiterating her condition that Jack and Henry were not to be harmed in exchange for her navigating during the day, and though it made him grind his teeth again, he reiterated his promise not to harm them before they reached the Trident. She'd been careful not to give him any further details regarding the Trident, an omission which he reluctantly accepted.

After the confrontation on the quarterdeck, and in spite of the way Carina had been frightened by him, Salazar observed that her fear had greatly diminished in the hours since. In fact, she barely seemed aware of him at all sometimes, or indeed anyone aboard the ship, so eagerly devoted was she to steering with her precious chronometer.

He, on the other hand, was now always aware of her. Not that he hadn't been aware before. And his awareness wasn't just because she was in sole control of navigating his ship. Or because he, as Capitán, must always check that she knew exactly where they were, and make sure that she was not deliberately losing them, prolonging their journey to delay the time they would take to reach the Trident.

It was because she was beautiful.

He had been completely unprepared for when that thought had first come, unbidden.

Following their negotiations, she had folded her calculations away neatly into the case of her chronometer, and left him to return to the wheel. He'd watched as Lesaro respectfully removed himself, like a courtier making way for his Queen; Carina nodding absently at him, turning slightly to murmur once at Magda, who resumed his post as Officer of the Watch at her side, before slipping one hand gracefully over the spokes. Holding the chronometer out in the other. Just as if she'd done so her entire life.

It had simply come to him then, as he stood there, watching her take control of La María.

She was… truly beautiful.

Her poise.

Her will.

Her quick, keen thinking.

Her eagerness to learn.

Her _life_.

It was the way in which her exhilaration stood out, above the ground-in despair and drudgery that he and his men wore like a second layer.

The only thing that excited he and his men to the same level of exhilaration she had at the wheel, was when they were killing.

But her exhilaration was pure. Pure joy at learning, at knowledge. Pure joy at discovering the cleverness in others, the wonders and miracles of the world around her.

Mysteries fed her.

Killing had fed him.

That evening, when the sun had set, but it was not quite time for Capitán Salazar to take over from her, he appeared early; quietly dismissing Magda to take his place as the Officer of the Watch beside her, until Lieutenant Lesaro arrived to begin his shift.

Carina didn't even look his way.

"You said you were raised by a Captain?" Salazar asked suddenly.

Carina, intent on her course, was startled by his sudden appearance, and turned quickly. "I'm sorry?"

It was evident to Salazar she had not noticed his arrival, had not even been aware of his presence, prior to him speaking. Inwardly, it irritated him.

"Who was the man who raised you?" Salazar's eyebrows drew together in annoyance. "The Captain?"

"Captain Coram." She glanced down at her chronometer, seeming nervous in his presence. "He found me, abandoned, on the steps of an orphanage. The orphanage was full, so he took me into his own home for awhile until a place could be made for me."

Under different circumstances, Capitán Salazar might've laughed, and said something cruel. But, for some reason, he found that he could not do anything, except say, somewhat awkwardly, "So he was a good man, no?"

"The best." She said softly. "When I left for Saint Martin, he was trying to petition to build a hospital for orphans. He wants to call it the Foundling Hospital." There was an unmistakable note of pride and admiration in her voice.

Salazar wondered at that. Wondered what it would've been like, to be raised by a good man.

"He helped save so many of us, but he wants to do more. He wants to make a bigger home. In London, there are so many children being given up to die, all the time. He wants to save them all."

There was so much admiration in her voice, he couldn't help an edge to his response. "A hero, then?"

She frowned at the bite in his words, before quickly smoothing her expression out. "I suppose so. I never thought of him as a 'hero' though."

This surprised him. "No?"

"No. Just an ordinary man, trying to do the best he can."

They were silent for some minutes.

Carina couldn't help reflecting in the silence that, the more she spoke with Capitán Salazar, the more she was starting to be reluctantly hooked into a curiosity that now simply would not let go: she wondered what he would be like if his curse was broken.

Although she knew the day she looked on the Capitán's living face might be her last, yet she still longed – only out of curiosity, she assured herself – to see what he might look like... alive. Human.

She then couldn't help wondering what he might've been like, if he'd stayed human. What he might've been like now, if he hadn't died, and then suffered under a curse. She tried to imagine a Capitán Salazar who'd simply retired to live in a villa with a family of his own, in some pleasant village in Spain. Would he be kinder, if he'd never been cursed? Would he laugh at jokes? Would he smile at children, and have a bad habit of eating too many sweets, and complain to his neighbours about their noisy dogs? Would he feel more? Would he be happy? Would he – love?

Perhaps staying constantly in a living-dead state, made feeling so painful for him, that he chose not to feel anymore. Perhaps feeling anything other than rage would be too devastating, and so he'd learned to cope simply by being cruel. She could not imagine what that must be like, to be conscious, and yet dead; living-dead ghosts who could not even set foot on their home soil...

"Do you miss it?" Carina suddenly asked.

"¿Perdón?"

"Your home? Do you miss it?"

"No." He said shortly. "There was nothing to miss. I had no wife. I was at sea from a young age. I never married." He paused.

"Never?" Carina sent a discreet sideways look at him.

"My mother asked me to marry, once. Even had a girl she wanted me to meet. The granddaughter of a woman that had been kind to my grandmother once. A long time ago. When the plague hit Seville, my grandmother was pregnant with my mother. The woman took her in, looked after her. Protected her while the city slid into chaos."

Carina bit her tongue in shock. If he was talking about the plague she thought he was talking about… it was in the middle of the 1600s. Over one hundred years ago! She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he continued to speak, already mentally trying to calculate how many possible years Capitán Salazar had endured existence.

"I said I would. I promised her, I would be the dutiful son, and marry the one she chose for me; that she would live to hold my children," his expression became troubled. "But that was – before. Now, I do not know if that girl is even still alive."

Carina was horrified. "You haven't tried to find out?"

"What good would it do?" he shook his head. "If she is alive, she'd be an old woman now. And my mother... even if my mother hadn't died, if she saw me now, looking as I do, Carina, she would curse me for a devil."

Carina paled. "I'm so sorry."

She looked so innocent, so childlike as she said that, that something long-dormant began to stir a little in his chest. No one had ever spoken such simple words to him, and in such a heartfelt way, that at first he didn't know what she meant by them.

"You're sorry?" He frowned, confused. "Sorry for what?"

"That your mother – that she died."

He stared at her.

Carina swallowed, and hurriedly changed the subject, not sure how to read the look in his eyes. "But… after we find the Trident. You could be freed from your curse, return to Spain, find your family, your friends... be back to – back to normal…" She lowered her voice. "Return to what you looked like."

He smiled dryly. "Anyone who used to know me, would still think me a demon."

"But why? You can't know what they'd –"

"It has been more than thirty years, little Carina. If I return to Spain, looking the same as I did when I sailed away, how could they not think I was a devil? Truthfully, none of us know what will happen once we are freed. Not you, not me. Will we be as we were before we died? Will we cease to exist? Will we age thirty years and become as old men, the old men we should've been, had we not sailed into the Devil's Triangle that day?"

Carina stared mutely. She had evidently never considered this.

"So, you see, the Trident may not be a good thing for us. But – I owe my men that chance. No matter what the risk, even if we cease to exist, it would still be better than now. At least, if we did cease to exist, we would not suffer any longer."

They lapsed into silence again, until Lieutenant Lesaro arrived punctually to begin his night shift on the quarterdeck. Lesaro looked surprised, and then worried, to see his Capitán there next to Señorita Smyth; but as the Señorita seemed unfazed, and Salazar appeared content, he wisely said nothing about it.

Salazar then insisted on taking over from her at the ship's wheel. She protested that it was far too early. Night had not fallen, and the vibrant colours of the sunset still stained the sky. But Carina's face was pale with exhaustion, and he would not ignore the dark circles under her eyes.

"Sleep until sunrise," he'd told her firmly.

Close to dawn, for the first time in a long time, Armando thought of his pocket watch. Somehow, amidst all that he had lost at his death, it had remained, a familiar weight in the right pocket of his coat.

It had, of course, stopped years before. Useless, he had often told himself. An arrogant vanity, he'd scolded Carina, when he'd thought hers had been a mere lover's trinket. But still, in spite of his disgust at the maudlin sentimentality of a pocket watch, he'd kept his.

Back when they had been imprisoned in the ever-present murk of the Devil's Triangle, he would often find himself holding it in his hand as he leant on the wheel of La María Silenciosa, staring out across the inky waters towards the lopsided stone archway. That archway had been his only window to the outside world. The only way into the prison he shared with his men. But never the way out. There was no leaving for anyone who entered. And when the days had woven their dark threads on a silent loom, and the last foolish victims to sail into the Devil's Triangle were already a fading memory of cries cut short and blood flowing long, he would slowly drift into a semiconscious stupor. And it was then that his hand would float down to feel the heavy gold disc of the pocket watch through his charred uniform.

He never knew how long he stayed in that in-between state, where he would neither think, nor speak, nor move. Sometimes he would catch himself singing, odd fragments of a half-remembered tune, fading on his dead tongue as his mind drifted away again.

Had he stayed conscious, he would have observed all his crew likewise falling into the same state along with him, only to fully wake when the next hapless ship ventured into their prison.

But, eventually, as in a trance, he would slowly draw the pocket watch out and look at it, his eyes able to trace its details with a clarity he never would have been able to as a human.

On the inside of the gold lid there was a slightly tarnished, delicate likeness of his grandmother. On the dial itself, an equally delicate rendering of a medieval knight riding out to rescue his love. In a perfectly spaced circle around the valiant knight ran gilded roman numerals, the gold hour and minute hands dispassionately stopped forever at the time of his death.

With filmy eyes the Capitán studied the features of his grandmother – features now more real and more familiar to him than even the memory of the face of his mother. He regarded the round dark eyes, the nose that was too long, the lips that crumpled slightly into a sullen pout. She looked sorrowful, her eyes almost too large for such a small face. She was never a beauty, but still he found her striking. Or at least, he had always thought so. When he had been alive.

It had been his grandfather's watch, passed on to him as a child, before his grandfather went on his final voyage. He barely remembered his grandfather. He had a vague recollection of the watch being given: brown, coarse hands folding something round and gold and heavy into his hand, pressing his chubby child's fingers around it, and a rough, sad voice saying in Spanish, "Remember, we must endure the bitter, Mando. It always comes before the sweet."

And then his grandfather had been gone. He had few other clear memories of his grandfather.

But he had painfully clear memories of his father, and especially how displeased his father had been over the watch.

The night before his father was due to set sail on his own ship for the Americas, his mother had cooked a feast for their evening meal. Piously murmuring a lengthy grace, his father had been in the middle of helping himself generously to his favourite paella when his eldest sons Raul and Francisco had let slip the honour that had been bestowed upon Armando.

As usual, his father had not been pleased that his youngest son had been so favoured by Grandfather's attentions.

"What, again?" He slopped his food heavily onto his plate in disapproval. "How many trinkets do you need?"

"Tis no trinket, father," chimed in a smug Raul, "Tis Grandfather's gold pocket watch. The one he got in Vienna."

His father's eyes had widened in surprise before narrowing in hostility. "And why would he waste such a treasure on you, boy?" his father had growled. "Where have you left it? Give it to me before you lose it."

Armando had wisely decided to keep the pocket watch with him at all times; though at that time it had only been days since his grandfather had given it to him, he was already uncomfortable unless he could feel it against his body.

He had hidden it in a secret pocket he had painstakingly sewed inside his breeches; he could feel it pressing under his thigh as he slouched down in his seat. He knew his brothers had jealously searched his room for it. Even now, under his father's belligerent stare, he felt comforted by the secret knowledge that it was safe. He stared at the table mutely, still as a statue.

His father grew red in the face and began to stand, reaching a meaty fist out towards his youngest. "I said, go get it and give it _here,_ boy!"

"Calm, dear husband, calm," his mother had arrested his father's grasping hand, "Tis only an old man's whim,"

"Tis too precious! The boy is clumsy, he'll trip and break it."

"He is not so clumsy as you think."

"It should be kept safe!"

"Nay," chided Mother. "Armando needs to be a man, like his brothers."

Armando heard his brothers snigger at that, but bit down on his rage and slouched even more.

"Let this be a test." His mother continued. "If he can keep it safe until Grandfather's return, he proves himself worthy of it. It is a good lesson for a wise father to let his son learn."

Father stopped and considered his wife's words. Armando held his breath, not daring to look up.

Finally his father grunted. "We'll see. If you cannot show Grandfather the watch when he returns, you'll be eating with the dogs."

Raul and Francisco sniggered again, but he ignored them.

He was being allowed to keep it! The pocket watch was his!

Even now, as he lifted his eyes up to the lightening sky above the grey seas ahead of him, Capitán Salazar tasted again the bubbling delight his boyish self had felt. For he had kept it, and looked after it.

And even after the news of Grandfather's death, when his mother had soberly put on her mourning dress and arranged for the funeral, and his aging father had all but forgotten about the pocket watch by the time he returned from America, it continued to be a source of secret pride and satisfaction.

The memory of such joy soured his soul. _What had happened to that boy? Where did he go?_

But he already knew the answer to that.

"Dentro del abismo," he muttered thickly. "En el infierno."

"It's beautiful."

"¿Qué?" Startled, Armando turned to see Carina standing next to him, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

Several feet behind her, at a respectful distance, Officer Magda and Lieutenant Lesaro were exchanging brief words, as Magda relieved Lesaro as the Officer of the Watch.

Capitán Salazar blinked, confused.

Seeing his incomprehension, Carina stepped carefully closer, nodding towards his hand. "I meant your pocket watch."

Stupidly, he looked down, and realised he was still holding it, before he'd even been aware he'd done so. He fumbled and started to put it away, but to his very great surprise she rested a hand on his arm.

"May I see?"

He stared. "It is… intimate." He struggled for the correct word in English when he saw her blush and look confused. "Close to me. My grandfather's."

"Oh," her expression cleared, and looked strangely dissatisfied at the same time. He looked down at it. "It is the only thing I have left of my family now."

"Forgive me," Carina said gently, "But I wondered… who the portrait inside the lid was? The one of the woman?"

"My grandmother." He hesitated, and then opened it for her to see.

"My grandfather had it made in Vienna. He meant to give it to her, but she – she went to heaven to be with the angels. That's how he spoke of her… 'she's with the angels'. So he gave it to me instead."

He smiled a little at the thought of his grandmother up in heaven, more than likely terrorising the angels and lecturing them on their work. He'd loved his grandmother, more than his own parents. She had been unique: blunt, playful, unceremonious. And she had loved Armando. Had nothing but contempt for his parents, yet loved him. She'd told him so, and often.

"Dumber than a crate of turnips," she would say frankly about Armando's strict father; and as a young boy he had laughed in equal shock and delight at her scorn.

He glanced down again at her portrait.

"She looks sad," Carina said quietly.

"She was, at the end." She studied it a little longer, as he continued holding it in his hand. "I could try and fix it for you, if you like."

"No, Señorita." He shook his head adamantly. "There will be no fixing. She is gone." He snapped the lid shut and put it away in his pocket. "I just meant the time," she hid her disappointment. "I could fix it so that it runs again."

"No."

"Fine." She sighed. "It is close to dawn, Capitán. It is my turn now."

"Not yet."

"How would you know?" She made a show of waving her chronometer. "It is three minutes past five. Guillermo said I was to relieve you at five."

"Who?"

She bit her lip. "Sorry, I meant Lieutenant Lesaro."

Capitán Salazar's eyes blazed. That she was already on such intimate terms with Lesaro as to know his first name, and be comfortable saying it, did not please him at all, though he was too angry to stop and ask himself why that was. He looked around for the Lieutenant, but Lesaro was already gone onto the main deck, to check on the progress of the hull-cleaning.

He whirled on Carina. "Are you in the habit of speaking so boldly with my men that you call them by their first name, as though you were their wife?"

Carina blushed and pulled the blanket about her tighter. "He's been kind to me."

"So it was him who gave you that blanket?" Salazar scowled even deeper. "And it makes you grateful, eh? Grateful enough to maybe tempt him to forget his loyalty to me?"

"He has only been as friendly as he can afford to be," Carina scowled back, her dimple showing again as she pressed her lips into a tight frown. "You can have no doubt, Capitán, to you Lieutenant Lesaro is loyal to a fault."

Salazar shoved away the urge to hold her face in his hand, the urge to press his thumb into that dimple.

"Then, Señorita," he bit out, squeezing his hands into fists at his sides, "Let me give you some friendly advice: do not learn my men's names. Do not address them by anything but their titles. It would go better for you to remember this."

"I appreciate your concern." She said angrily. "But I am not one of your crew, and I do not need to address them as though I am!"

"You _are_ one of my crew. You are aboard my ship, under my command, and you only have freedom because I have allowed it!" He turned towards her, one hand on the wheel, to lean in close as he added, "Some leeway may be allowed you due your sex, but I will not tolerate a lack of respect from you. Your presence already unsettles my men, and were it not for your navigating us to the Trident you would have been disposed of immediately!"

Behind them, Officer Magda straightened, watching their argument in growing alarm.

"'Disposed of'?" She looked at him in utter disbelief. "You would've 'disposed of' me? I don't believe that absolute rubbish in the slightest, Capitán Salazar!"

"You forget, Señorita," he said coldly, "I ordered your death the minute my men brought you to my cabin!"

"Rubbish!" She declared. "You knew they would argue against you! You planned it! It was all a show! You only meant it to frighten me, so that I'd cause you no trouble!"

Under their feet, the Silent Mary started to groan, her timbers grating against one another in warning; but Capitán Salazar was too enraged to pay attention.

"If only that was the case!" He snapped sarcastically. "You've caused me more trouble than I ever imagined a woman could!"

"Ah, Capitán –" Magda started to say, but his smooth interjection was interrupted.

"Oh, forgive me, _Capitán,_ " Carina shot back, "But you know nothing of women! How many years has it been for you since you even kept company with a woman?"

With his sharpened preternatural sight, Magda spied a small commotion brewing on the far end of the main deck. Indecisive, he paced to the top of the stairs to try and see more clearly what was happening, before glancing back to where Salazar and Carina still argued at the wheel.

"I have kept company with many women, Carina," the Capitán's gaze grew dark and sly. "And never before heard a complaint from a single one!"

"You kept –" Carina flushed red when his meaning became clear, and lowered her voice. "Perhaps they did not dare complain of your company, because you terrified them!"

"I can assure you, they were speechless, but not from fear," he chuckled at her blush. "But then, they were also women who were very obedient, and knew how to keep the peace!"

"Well, Capitán Salazar," her eyes brightened with a fierce sparkle, "I am not like them!"

"I agree, Señorita, you are not! None of them ever hit me in the head with a cup!"

"If you weren't so cruel and provoking, I wouldn't have needed to!"

"If you'd told me everything, I wouldn't have provoked you!"

Around them, the sound of the ship's ominous creaking rose up, but neither of them heard, sharp anger clouding their senses.

"You said the most unforgivable things to me," Carina clenched her fists, "And I wish I'd done more than hit you with a cup!"

Salazar gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. "I will advise you to carefully consider the next words that drop from your lips, Carina, or else you will force me to forget all your usefulness!"

They stood face to face: Carina's shoulders almost visibly shaking from barely contained rage and frustration; Capitán Salazar silently challenging her to provoke him with one more word, just one.

They were on the brink of a storm from which there would be no turning back from should they succumb, when several cries from the main deck below drew their attention, followed by the sound of a splash.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Dentro del abismo, en el infierno – Inside the abyss, in hell
> 
>  
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: 
> 
> Salazar makes a reference to The Great Plague of Seville, 1646–1652.


	7. Of Provocations And Punishments

Turning, Carina saw immediately that Henry was being forced to his knees at swordpoint on the main deck, but Jack…

Jack was being hauled up over the side of the Silent Mary by two of the ship's officers, drenched and spitting out water as they threw him to the deck.

"Officer Magda," Salazar called curtly, as his gaze fixed on the scene below, "Take over from Señorita Smyth."

At once, Officer Magda was there, impervious expression on his grey, cracked face, and placed his hands on the wheel, effectively forcing Carina to step to the side.

"Now, wait," Carina objected, holding her chronometer protectively up to her chest. "I can still navigate –"

"Keep your precious chronometer, Carina," Salazar took her by her elbow. "Magda can hold the wheel for us."

"But I need to –"

"No, Carina," Salazar interrupted. "Do not provoke me again. It's time we re-discuss the terms of you being on board La María Silenciosa."

"But –"

"No!" Salazar growled. "You will come with me!"

His firm grip warned her not to make any further argument, and he forced her to walk down the stairs to the main deck ahead of him.

"Capitán," Lesaro met them at the bottom, and fell into step beside Carina and Salazar. "The Sparrow tried to escape – but we stopped him."

Salazar's grip on Carina tightened, and she knew he could draw his sword any time he wanted – but his other hand remained steadily on the sword hilt as he stalked purposefully forward, towards the source of all the commotion.

Jack had been shoved to his knees next to Henry. Both of them had been ordered to hold their hands up behind their heads by a very enraged Officer Cortez waving his cutlass in their faces. Officers Moss, Santos and Benetez stood guard behind them, their swords pricking them between their shoulder blades. Jack was still shivering from his brief attempt to escape by diving into the sea – but Henry was dry, and glaring at everybody, including Jack.

"¿Qué es esto?" Salazar asked softly, looking between the two escapees. "How did they get out?"

"They picked the locks on their chains, Capitán." Cortez spat. "The boy had a lock pick!"

"We just caught them in time! But they destroyed the brig!" Officer Moss was furious. "They broke up all the floorboards!"

"La María alerted us, Capitán." Santos said calmly. "They hurt her when they tried to escape, and she made enough noise to raise the alarm."

Salazar was both surprised and chagrined. He hadn't heard a thing. But then, he _had_ been in the middle of a heated argument with Carina…

Lesaro added quietly, "The boy seems to have been headed for you and Car – Señorita Smyth, when the Sparrow dove into the sea."

"Ah," Salazar graciously chose to overlook his Lieutenant's near slip, in calling Carina by her first name. "So. The boy was coming to your rescue, hmm?"

Carina pressed her lips together, refusing to make a sound.

"And yet," Capitán Salazar's gaze lit on the pirate, "Instead of letting the boy fight, the Sparrow draws attention to himself?"

"I – believe so," Lesaro said slowly.

"You should've let me try to fight, Jack!" Henry cried. "You said you didn't even want to escape, and then you go and ruin everything!"

"You idiot!" Carina hissed at Henry, unable to remain silent any longer. Henry looked at her in surprise.

"But Carina –"

"If you'd tried to fight the Capitán, you would've died!" Carina said tightly. "Jack just saved your life!"

"What?" Henry looked between Jack and Carina, confused.

"Actually, _I_ just wanted –" Jack tried to interject.

"But I thought they might've been hurting you, Carina!" Henry insisted.

"Henry Turner, I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you very much!" Carina said hotly.

"I was going to help you escape!" Henry protested.

Carina rolled her eyes. "You should've just stayed exactly where you were!"

Salazar watched this exchange between Carina and Henry avidly.

"But Carina, I hadn't seen you in two days!" Henry continued defensively. "No one would tell us anything, we didn't know if you were being tortured, or – or even if you were alive anymore! And then, when I do see you, you're –" He glanced at Salazar and swallowed. "I mean… it just looked like – like –"

Salazar was amused. "Say it, boy," he encouraged. "Tell her what it looked like."

Strangely, Henry blushed.

Jack raised his eyebrows, and his lips twisted into a sly smile as he glanced discreetly between Carina and Capitán Salazar; a look that Carina caught – but it puzzled her.

"It doesn't matter what it looked like!" Henry went even redder. "I was going to save you!"

"Save her?" Salazar smiled viciously as he jerked Carina closer. "I think not. I think it is fortunate that the Sparrow saved _you_ , boy!"

"Not at all!" Jack exclaimed loudly. "Absolutely untrue! Wasn't tryin' to save no one!"

"Oh?" Salazar turned suddenly on Jack. "You weren't thinking of the boy?"-

"Um…" Jack gulped and shrank under the Capitán's attention. "Maybe?"

"Or did the Sparrow really try to fly?" Salazar said, a dangerous look in his eye. "Perhaps… we need to clip his wings."

"Don't!" Carina pleaded. "Don't punish Jack!"

"No?" Salazar considered. "Bien. I will punish both then."

Carina gasped, but Salazar was already nodding at his Lieutenant.

Lesaro's expression was cool and controlled, as he called out, "Santos! Moss! Prepararlos para flagelación!"

Santos and Moss sheathed their swords at their sides and roughly pulled Jack and Henry to their feet, holding them while Benetez stripped both of them down to their waists.

The sound of tearing fabric was loud to Carina's ears, even over the wind and the waves.

"Contramestre Cortez," Lieutenant Lesaro turned to address him by his official title. "Traiga un látigo."

Officer Cortez smiled cruelly. Sheathing his cutlass like the others, he went to fetch the whip, and brought it to the Capitán: a thick heavy handle with several long, knotted leather straps swinging on the end of it. Salazar took the whip from him.

Carina drew in a sharp breath.

Hearing it, Salazar studied her with interest.

"You are very pale, Carina," he said softly, as Benetez finished tearing away Jack's and Henry's shirts.

She didn't answer.

"Are you familiar with flogging?" Salazar asked.

Carina seemed to be having trouble breathing; she could not look away as Lesaro gave commands that their wrists were to be tied in front.

"Ah," Salazar realised. "Your voyage to Saint Martin. You saw the Captain flog a man."

"Y-yes." Carina's voice was so faint, Salazar had to lean in to hear her. "The Captain was so harsh… three dozen lashes, just for trying to bring medicine to a sick child..."

"Sí..." Salazar's smile was cruel. "Then you should know, I will be even harsher." Salazar turned away to address Cortez. "Stand by the Señorita. Do not let her interfere."

Circling slowly around Jack and Henry, he kept Carina in his line of sight.

"So, what is it you British do, Sparrow, when you flog a man?" he addressed the pirate loudly. "Tie him to the yard-arm? Or is it the shrouds?"

Jack only looked at him with a half-hearted smirk, and was silent.

Henry was wide-eyed, but even he had the sense not to speak.

Salazar paused, and his eyes slid to Carina. Her face was a blank mask – but he could see she was clutching her chronometer so tightly at her side, her knuckles were going white.

"String them both from the yardarm," Salazar ordered abruptly. "And make sure the Señorita doesn't look away."

They looped a heavy rope around both men's tied wrists, throwing the other end of the rope over the yardarm and pulling until Henry and Jack had no choice but to stand almost on their toes, arms stretched painfully up over their heads.

Salazar let Carina watch as he caressed the whip again, running its stiff leather straps through a grey hand.

"Please, please don't!" Carina whispered.

He saw the words leave her lips more than he heard them, and for a brief second, he wondered how horrible the flogging she'd witnessed must've been, to make her so fearful of a whip – when she had almost no fear, face to face with him. He wondered what she would do, if he went ahead and began the flogging. Salazar found himself stalking slowly back towards her, whip in hand.

Cortez respectfully stepped aside as his Capitán approached.

Carina looked away, afraid to even look at Salazar when he was holding a whip. He tipped the handle against her chin, forcing her head back.

"Look at me, Carina..." She jerked away from its touch, eyes closed and lips pale. Strangely, her fearful reaction did not gratify him. "How would you have me punish them, then, if not by whipping?"

"Don't – don't punish them at all…"

"Would you be punished in their place, Señorita?" he mocked softly.

Carina was honest. "No." She saw the impatient movement of one of the officers near Jack, and hurried to say, "But what does it win, to be so cruel?"

His sudden laugh, and the harshness of it, frightened her. "What does it win?"

He moved around behind her. "I have spent decades trapped in this body," he whispered in her ear, "In a hell you couldn't even begin to imagine in your worst nightmares, and you ask why I am _cruel_?"

He closed his arm about her, pressing the whip against her chest, its leather straps splaying across her throat, and she stumbled backwards into him trying to avoid it.

"I _am_ cruel." he hissed. "If I were not cruel, I would have killed the Sparrow the second I had him. But I won't end his suffering so fast. And I _will_ see him suffer, Señorita! I will see him plead for mercy and suffer in pain for as many years as he has made _me_ suffer." The straps of the leather whip chafed as he pushed the handle up under her chin, tilting her head back until she was all but resting against his shoulder. "My cruelty 'wins' me satisfaction. It brings me peace! Would you deny a dead man his peace, Carina?"

Carina's throat was threatening to close off completely, and to her mortification all she could achieve was a pained whimper in response.

"But tell me... am I to continue waiting, until after we have the Trident? Or do I end this little act, this charade we have, and quench my revenge now?" He dropped his voice. "And if I do end this charade, right now…" The feel of his lips suddenly brushing against her ear made her shiver. "What am I to do with you, Carina?"

Taking a deep breath, Carina marshalled all her intellectual powers and dared to step away from him, pushing the whip aside as she did.

"Well, Capitán," she turned to look him in the eye. "I think…" She nearly lost her burst of courage when she met his fiery gaze, but for Jack and Henry she would not allow herself to falter. "I think," she lifted her chin, "That _you_ should stop this charade, as you call it, and let me continue navigating."

Salazar stared at her.

"I meant what I said before," Carina said, loudly and clearly. "I said that if you hurt either Henry or Jack, I'd stop helping you find the Trident."

A terrible silence fell over the entire deck of the Silent Mary.

"So, if you would let me return to the wheel," Carina pushed on while she still had the courage to do so. "You can find a more suitable place to imprison them, if that's what you insist on – or you can flog them, and say goodbye to any chance of being freed from your curse!"

No one spoke.

And then Salazar tilted the whip handle forward, to let it rest against her neck again.

"And what if I decide just to follow Barbossa, find the Trident myself and be done with all of you?"

But Carina clenched her jaw and refused to back down. "You could. You could follow him. But without my journal and what I know, you won't be able to get the Trident."

"Is that so?"

"Yes." Carina swallowed at the rough leather that moved slowly across her skin.

"You speak..." Salazar trailed the whip slowly over her throat, his voice low, "Always out of turn, pretty Señorita. And in front of my men."

Carina felt a different kind of dread creep over her at the way Salazar's eyes followed the course of the whip, its pressure paling her skin; the way he parted his lips when a strap caught on the neckline of her shift.

"But if I am not to hurt the boy and Sparrow… if I am to believe you, and let you continue to take me to the Trident… who will pay for their damage to my ship? Eh? Who will pay for the Turner boy's intention to attack me? You forget, one of them _has_ already killed me, and the other one was willing to try. You must confess, Señorita, that is a serious crime, deserving of punishment. Men have been harshly punished for far less."

Carina's eyes slid sideways towards Jack and Henry.

"Hmm?" Salazar tilted his head. "Don't you agree?"

Carina took in Jack's resigned posture, and Henry's tense and frightened one. She saw the slow slump in Jack's shoulders as he hung off the yardarm. The way Henry was preparing himself for the worst. Instantly she knew neither of them would blame her if they _were_ flogged. As frightened as Henry was, as despairing as Jack obviously was, neither would plead to be spared, or beg for Carina to save them, and it made her feel –

"Unworthy," she uttered involuntarily.

"¿Perdón?" Salazar leant in. "You now think these wretches unworthy?"

"No," she turned resolutely back to Salazar. "It would be unworthy of me to – to let them be punished."

Salazar stared, uncomprehending.

"Jack and Henry helped to save my life on Saint Martin… and, and I – I cannot stand by and let them be punished. Not even when you say they deserve it. I – I cannot –" She stuttered to a stop.

"Are you telling me you'd allow yourself to be punished in their place, Señorita?" Salazar asked softly.

"Would you spare them if I did?"

Salazar looked away towards the two prisoners, his eyebrows raised in a curious expression of cheerfulness. "You are asking me to show mercy."

"No! Not mercy!" Carina's response was instinctive. She didn't know why, but something told her to avoid that particular word with the Capitán.

"No?" Salazar smiled. "Then what are you asking of me?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Henry turn his head, trying to hear what they were saying.

"I'm not a fool," she dropped her voice. "I know you'll want revenge on Jack, and you'll have it when we get to the Trident! But I – I'm offering, a – compensation! If you agree to keep holding off..." she swallowed again. "I'll pay whatever price you name."

Salazar's smile was almost genuine. "Truly, Señorita? You'll agree to pay the price for their guilt? And you'll still take us to the Trident?"

Carina hung her head. "If – if you promise not to harm them until after we get there – then yes. I'll – I'll do it."

"Sí, Carina. I accept."

Salazar nodded to Lieutenant Lesaro who with a stiff command ordered the officers to release the men.

The officers released Henry and Jack from the yardarm, and dragged them down below.

But Salazar's eyes never left Carina's despairing face. "You will come to me tonight, Carina, at the hour of midnight, and pay their price! You will be punished in their place – however I see fit."  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Qué es esto - What is this
> 
> Contremestre – Quartermaster
> 
> Prepararlos para flagelación - Prepare them for flogging
> 
> Traiga un látigo - Bring the whip
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: 
> 
> Officer Benetez is more often referred to in the fandom as 'Chris' (named I believe for the first name of the actor playing him). Since naval etiquette precludes the use of first names 99% of the time aboard a ship, I have had the last name 'Benetez' recommended instead.
> 
> Regarding the Quartermaster (Contremestre in Spanish), I debated with myself a long time as to who would be the acting Quartermaster on the Silent Mary. A small thing, I know, but it bothered me because there's so little we know about the Silent Mary crew. The Quartermaster (British equivalent to 'Boatswain') had many duties, among them answering to the First Lieutenant (Lesaro) and being responsible for dealing out punishments aboard the Silent Mary. I decided it would have to be someone slightly younger than Lieutenant Lesaro, but still old enough to have enough experience to be able to believably be in charge of discipline.


	8. Of Mercy and Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Dubious consent and Sexual Content.

At midnight, Carina ascended the steps to the quarterdeck.

Capitán Salazar turned to watch her, as she hesitated at the top step.

"Are you ready for punishment, Señorita?" he sneered, his eyes reflecting the dim light of the mizzenmast's only lantern.

She braced herself, and nodded. "I am."

She had no idea what punishment he had in mind.

All afternoon and evening, she'd been forced to wait down below decks. Salazar had ordered Officer Cortez to guard her in what remained of the broken brig, while Jack and Henry had been put lower down, in the hold.

None of the crew had been allowed to speak to her, though Lieutenant Lesaro had come more than once to check on her, in spite of Cortez's hostility towards him. She didn't know if he came with or without the Capitán's permission, but the tight anger on the Lieutenant's face told her he may well have been very close to not caring.

He brought her a blanket on his first visit, passing it to her silently, before turning abruptly and leaving.

"I apologise, Señorita, that I cannot intervene," he'd told her quietly, on his last visit. It was the one and only time he'd spoken with her since she'd been put there. "I have tried to - reason with the Capitán, to release you from punishment. I do not know what he is thinking. But he will not listen."

When Lesaro left, Carina had not been able to help the sinking feeling that came over her. Whatever she had to face, whatever Capitán Salazar was going to do to her, she knew then that it was inevitable.

Close to midnight, Cortez had told her to go to the quarterdeck, but he did not escort her. Nor did he explain why he didn't. He only said that it was the Capitán's orders that she go alone.

As she'd made her way towards the lone figure of Capitán Salazar, leaning on the wheel at the helm, she saw the deck was empty. It made her more frightened than before, as she couldn't imagine why the Capitán would order his crew to stay clear of the deck. She'd swallowed nervously as she approached the steps, trying to calm herself, thoughts of all kinds of terrible punishments the Capitán might put her through marching relentlessly through her mind.

So it was with relief that she saw he was not holding the whip. He wasn't even wearing his sword. She didn't know what that meant, but whatever he intended, she had a sudden sense that it was going to be a lot more sinister than mere physical pain.

She pulled her blanket protectively around herself.

"Leave that," he scowled at the blanket. "You will not be having that with me."

Carina started to take the blanket off and fold it.

"Leave it!" Salazar growled.

Carina nearly flung back a sharp retort at his tone, before remembering herself. She was here to stop Jack and Henry from being hurt. There was no room for arguing, not anymore. She let it drop to the deck.

"¡Ven aquí!"

Salazar motioned for her to stand at the ship's wheel.

Carina shivered as the cold night air cut keenly through her thin shift, and moved towards him.

He continued watching her every step until she came to a stop at the wheel. Being this close to him made her throat dry with fear. She almost couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, but he lowered his head, bending forward to look into her eyes.

"What… what do you want me to do?" she whispered, unnerved by the intensity in him.

"Navigate," he commanded simply. "And do not move."

She gripped the wheel tightly as she felt Capitán Salazar press behind her. The feel of his chest at her back reminded her of the way he'd held the whip's handle to her throat earlier. She shivered again, a cold tremor that swept relentlessly over her.

"Are you _truly_ ready?" Salazar murmured in her ear. "Ready to be at my mercy? Not... afraid?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice; determined not to let the Capitán know just how petrified she was.

"We shall see."

She drew in a hard breath when she felt his hand slide slowly around her waist.

"If you forget your offer, Carina," Salazar warned in a low voice. "To take the punishment for those wretches, then I will forget I agreed to leave them unharmed."

She swallowed and nodded once more.

Slowly, he began to move his hand further across her shift.

Confused, she looked down as he traced a light circle over her hip with his fingers.

Was this the punishment?

The sensation of his touch was unsettling.

"Capitán –"

"Not a sound, pretty Señorita," his words were cold against her ear.

She stared straight ahead.

He dropped his fingers to the top of her thigh, and slowly pulled her shift up, gathering it inch by inch in a fist, until she was exposed to the night air. Her breath caught when the palm of his hand moved to spread over her bare skin. His touch – the _way_ he was touching her – was beginning to translate not quite into fear, but a strange and tense anticipation. Her breath caught again as she realised she actually found his touch disturbingly... pleasant. And simultaneously bewildering, _because_ it was pleasant.

He smoothed his hand in wide circles, down towards her knee, up over the outside of her thigh, his pained breath in a harmonious rhythm with his caresses. She could barely focus, only just managing to keep her eyes on the sails ahead as they billowed in the breeze; the constant sound of canvas flapping rhythmically in the wind her only distraction from the growing confusion she felt… when his hand moved from caressing her thigh to sliding up purposefully between her legs.

"Oh – no –" she whimpered, and let go of the wheel immediately to push his hand away. "Capitán – don't –"

"Hold the wheel and open for me," he growled. "Open, Señorita!"

She returned her hands to the wheel as she reluctantly moved her feet apart – just enough – but he was swift to thrust his hand up until it was hard against her.

"Please," the word was ripped out of her, no more than a hoarse whisper.

"Shhh, shhh," he breathed. "Seré suave..."

He was touching her in a place no man had ever touched her, and she was conscious of the fact that though they were alone on the quarterdeck, at any time one of his crew might suddenly appear.

As though guessing her thoughts, he whispered, "We are alone. I gave them orders for tonight. They know not to disturb us."

With one finger, he began relentless circles again, only this time drawing them in boldly precise moves directly over her sex. A wave of heat flushed through her. With his free hand, he lifted the other side of her shift up until both her thighs were exposed to the cold night air.

And then the gentle circles were halted.

Carina held her breath.

Salazar flicked a finger, hard, against her.

The abruptness of it sent a shockwave right through her, making her jerk and cry out. But this time Salazar didn't seek to stifle her cry. Instead, in spite of his previous instruction not to make a sound, it seemed to please him.

"Sí, sí! Again!"

She knew she'd been heard – and she couldn't bear that Jack and Henry would be frightened and guilty hearing her, imagining the worst was happening. Willfully, Carina clamped her lips together, trying to get herself under control. Salazar did it again, and her head snapped backwards onto his shoulder. He did it again, and she strained against him, wanting desperately to get away from the odd, tingling thrill spiralling upwards from between her legs, but she could not.

" _Please_!" She gasped, trying again to pull his hand away, but he was immovable.

"Carina," he growled warningly, and she stopped, remembering his warning that he'd harm Jack and Henry if she 'forgot' their agreement.

She let go.

Salazar placed both his hands on the inside of her thighs, pinning her shift in place above her hips with his arms, and spread her wider for him.

Then she felt him slowly press a finger inside of her.

She whimpered, but resisted the urge to struggle.

"Bien, bien," he murmured.

She felt his cold finger start to gently stroke, sliding in and out of her, making her breathe harder and harder as multiple sensations began to roll into her mind, choking all sensible thought. She arched back uncontrollably when he changed his angle, the slick pressure hitting a nerve she didn't even know existed, but he still held her firmly between himself and the wheel.

"Capitán..." she pleaded.

"Bien, eso es," he soothed.

As he maintained his strokes, in and out, she found herself, little by little, relaxing into him.

He eased her legs apart even wider, seeking more access, his strokes never changing in speed or strength.

He was ruthless.

He was merciless.

And, irresistibly, Carina was starting to feel something she'd never felt before. The frenetic pleasure he was triggering was such as she'd never known could exist; making her rise up on the tips of her toes, causing her to instinctively wrap her arms around the back of his neck, to move in conjunction with him as he stroked her. She simultaneously wanted him to stop and wanted him to never stop. She felt the approaching threat of an internal collapse: she was on the brink of something new, something both utterly base and intangibly ethereal... when it was abruptly taken from her.

"No!" He suddenly snarled, and removed his hand completely.

She whined at the sudden absence, and turned her head pleadingly to look at him.

"Please...?" She whispered, but now it wasn't a plea for him to stop. It was a plea for him to finish.

"Te castigaré," he turned his face towards her, so close she could feel his cool breath, "Con placeres y dolores..."

"Please..." she said again, not understanding him; only knowing that he was resolute in holding himself back from her.

"No," Salazar smiled cruelly.

Carina squirmed in frustration, her hands falling from his neck.

"Please," she mumbled.

"No, no, no! No more por favor, por favor! You must _ask_ , properly."

She didn't know how to ask for what she wanted, she didn't really know herself what it was she wanted - only that she wanted more.

"Well?" Salazar's hands were still on her thighs. "What do you want?"

Carina bit her lip, chagrined.

"Hmmm?" He whispered provokingly.

"More," she could barely get the word out. "I want more."

"More?" Salazar mused. "But is the pretty Señorita asking for herself? Or perhaps, she thinks she is saving those wretches, no?"

Carina couldn't answer.

"Tell me," his voice rumbled through her back.

Her answer was quieter than ever, as though it pained her to say it.

"¿Que?" Salazar caressed her thighs again. "What did you say?"

"Me." Carina choked. "I'm asking for me..."

He chuckled.

And then without warning, he thrust two fingers hard and deep inside her.

Carina couldn't help crying out again incoherently.

He was rougher now, his touch even more insistent; Carina abandoned all attempts to bear him in silence, despairingly aware that everyone onboard the Mary must now know the nature of Salazar's 'punishment' for her. Again and again, Capitán Salazar brought her to the crest of combustion, but he did not let her ignite. He would feel her clenching around his fingers, and then change from two fingers to one, and back again; he would change his speeds, alter the pressure, but always keep her agonisingly just on the edge of the blissful release she could _almost_ reach out and grasp, it was so unbearably close.

"Capitán... Salazar," she finally panted, "Please, please... no... no more."

He only pulled her tighter against himself, his burnt uniform chafing her back, the movement of his hands almost lifting her clear off the deck with every thrust.

"Please, please stop…"

"No, Carina," his hair brushed against her cheeks as he turned his head to speak, "I am not ready to."

"I just… please, can you…"

She lost ability to speak, her words melting into a delirious moan, and she felt herself start to tense around his fingers yet again, as a simultaneous shiver of cold came crashing down into a rising dense heat, the formation of something new and inexplicable teetering precariously between them.

Suddenly he spun her to face him, smashing her back into the ship's wheel as he picked her up in one fluid motion and hooked her legs around his hips.

"Look at me, Carina," he growled. "And tell me, do you not hate yourself?"

"No," she panted, the possession of the moment making her bluntly honest.

She felt him slowly push a finger inside her again, holding her up with one arm wrapped underneath her as he leaned over her.

"Not even now…?" he sneered, but she was looking into his eyes, his glowing eyes, and she saw something in them that gave the lie to his attempt at scorn.

"No..."

She closed her eyes as he started to increase his speed again.

Throwing her head back, Carina didn't care anymore at her own discomfort, even as she was being crushed against the hard grain of the wheel. She just wanted to let everything be eclipsed by the feeling of _him_. Something cold crushed against her neck and she opened her eyes to see that he was kissing her, black lips trailing a line of ink down to where the top of her breasts were escaping over her neckline.

Sensing her curious gaze, he looked up, and hesitated.

"Are you not afraid?"

There was no cruelty or scorn in the question this time.

It was such a rare window of vulnerability, and instinctively she knew he was asking something else entirely, something beyond the words he actually used. She reached her fingers up to his grey face, tentatively cupping the cracked cheek.

And at her touch, Capitán Salazar became absolutely still.

A pained breath escaped from between his lips.

Something fell into place for Carina, and without words, she understood.

Carefully, she leant forward, trusting him to bear her shifting weight, and casting aside all her previous terror, all her rational judgement, all of her usual cool intellectual objections, she kissed him.

Salazar drew back in shock.

Time stretched out between them, interminable in its implications and possibilities.

His shock at her kiss confirmed for Carina the brief clarity his vulnerability had afforded her, and she smiled gently at him.

Salazar couldn't understand. She didn't seem to care that her own lips were stained black from the kiss. She didn't seem horrified at how he must have tasted to her, old blood and ash coating her tongue. Instead, she was fascinated that his abrupt shift back had caused his hair to float forward between them, and almost childlike, lifted her fingers to thread through the dark locks. She was unlike any woman he had ever met.

He felt something shift in his chest, an unfamiliar warmth, and he growled, "You must be a witch, Carina..."

She actually laughed. "So I keep being told."

He shook his head, bewildered. "The things I feel, when I am with you!"

She caught a lock of his hair in her fingers, and tugged lightly on it, an almost mischievous delight in her blue eyes.

"But you _feel_ , though," she wound a lock around a finger, and brought it to her lips, murmuring, "You feel more than just rage. I'd wondered if maybe you'd forgotten how to do that..."

Involuntarily, he found himself reaching up to her cheek, savouring the sensation of her.

She closed her eyes and smiled again. And that dimple of hers, that had previously only ever appeared when she frowned, now peeped out at him. He ran his thumb over it, pressing into it slightly as he did, and her smiled deepened.

This wasn't how he'd imagined she would be.

But then, truthfully, he hadn't really thought it through, beyond being able to finally touch her. He hadn't thought it would be possible that she'd... respond. And certainly not like this. Something inside him insisted he make a decision quickly before something happened and he missed this chance forever.

"Come, Carina," he was placing her on her feet, taking her hand firmly in his.

Confused, she wavered somewhat unsteadily as the blood rushed back into her legs.

"Come," he insisted, pulling her forward. "My cabin. Now."

Carina always had the impression that the relations between a man and a woman were something to be put up with. That the physical coupling between them was no more grand an occasion than what one had for breakfast.

Now, she knew she had been very much mistaken.

Watching as Capitán Salazar stood between her wide open legs for what seemed the – she couldn't remember how many times, pressing ravenous kisses down the insides of her calves, licking behind her knees, nipping between her thighs, his fingers stroking her all the while until she was rushing wet with a sore heat and an impatient desire she'd never known she could be capable of…

Yes, she'd been grievously mistaken.

When he'd first drawn her into the cabin, she'd been so eager: all but pulling him on top of her onto the bed, and then immediately apologising for it, she'd been so nervous.

Flushed with both anxiety and eagerness, simultaneously shy and demanding: Carina felt her inexperience deeply. But the kisses he'd given her had been so soothing, the taste of him so satiating; he'd quickly eased her into a relaxed confidence with him. And now, she felt that if too many minutes slipped by without a kiss she would become famished – she craved those black lips so much. If only she'd known this was how it could be, she might have spent less time studying the stars and more time making her own stars –

"Mi adorado..." Salazar's mouth pressed against her thigh.

Carina made a half-conscious noise of eager desire deep in her throat, as Salazar moved between her legs.

"Mi amada..." he began to kiss his way slowly up, his hand still constant in stroking her.

She closed her eyes and let her hands wander over his shoulders, playing in his weightless hair as he drew cool trails with his tongue up her flushed skin, circling around and between her breasts. She opened her eyes when he withdrew his hand from her, his weight shifting the half-destroyed bed underneath them as he balanced himself on one elbow, and guided his manhood to her entrance.

Carina's breath hitched.

He was going to take her, and she'd never been more eager for anything in her entire life.

"Yes!" she gasped when he hesitated. " _Yes_!"

But the touch of his hand was still no preparation for the burning friction she felt, when he pushed inside her for the first time. She tried to hold her tongue, but it was still painful enough to make her whimper.

"¿Estás bien?" he halted all movement, concerned. "Would you like me to stop, Carina?"

"No!" She hissed softly and gritted her teeth, "Please… please don't stop!"

Her thighs trembled and burned, her back was tightly wound at the pain, but she was not willing to back down.

He frowned. "You are hurting..."

"It's... just – you're – you're too – it's too much," she'd whispered hoarsely, and a look of pride had flashed its way across his face before settling into a furrowed brow of concern.

"You must relax, mi amada," he soothed, kissing her cheek, keeping himself still, not moving any further inside of her.

He kissed his way from her cheek to her neck, biting lightly over her throat, and incredibly, she felt some of her tension wash away.

"I will move, just a little more," he murmured against her neck.

She nodded, trying to relax.

He slipped in another inch as he licked and bit at the sensitive skin of her neck, right behind her ear. She gasped at the sensation, but steeled herself through the wave of discomfort with distraction: tugging on his hair, pulling his lips away from her neck to meet her own lips. The coolness of his tongue was a refreshing balm, and she welcomed the accompanying shiver as he slid his tongue inside her mouth.

She instinctively drew her thighs up to cup his hips, and he smiled against her mouth, "Bien, bien..."

He moved slowly, pressing all the way through until she actually felt her maidenhead tear, before he stopped again. The pain was sharp. She caught and swallowed an involuntary high-pitched whimper, her entire being tensing at the complete invasion.

He rested his forehead on hers, shivering with the tension of holding himself still, murmuring, "No me moveré, no me moveré…"

After a long, distressing minute, Carina risked shifting a little; testing the feel of him inside her, the fullness. She could see him waiting for her permission, his eyes glowing a bright amber from the exercise of so much patience. She traced his face again with her fingertips, distinguishing in the dim light his expression – avid, fierce, but also... awed.

It was taking all of Capitán Salazar's ragged willpower to cling onto his thin sense of self-control.

It was taking all of his determination not to move inside her like he wanted to.

This woman, his Carina, was stoking his desires, and he did not want to stop until he had wrung every last cry of pleasure possible from her.

She didn't know. She could _not_ know, how much he'd held himself back, was still holding himself back from taking her as roughly, as savagely as he wanted. But he stopped himself, because… he wanted more than her pain.

As she'd cried out on the deck, begging him to pleasure her, he would not deny he'd felt a rush of cruel satisfaction. And it had been made all the sweeter, when he realised there could be nothing more torturous for the two wretched prisoners beneath the Mary's deck than to be hearing her. Nothing could be more terrible for them, than hearing her being ravished by him. Nothing more confusing, than to hear her cry out in pleasure, begging him for more.

But then she'd cupped her hand against his face…

And then she'd pressed forward to kiss him…

His desires had unfolded from a simple, single-arrowed goal, to a palace of possibilities, and he'd known in that instant he was the one who wanted _more_.

And so he remained still, buried as he was up to the hilt inside her, ignoring his impulses to take her and take her hard.

The touch of her fingers on his cheek, stroking down to his fractured jaw, made him focus on her bright eyes, no longer filled with pain, but with a kind of wonder. He had never had a woman look at him like that before. Not even when he was alive. Had never had a woman so innocent, so artless, and so, _so_ eager for him before. Not like this.

"Are you ready now, little Carina?" he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

She nodded, already tensing around him; her hand fell to his shoulder, gripping him firmly in anticipation.

He drew back his hips a little.

"Voy a hacer que supliques," he murmured. "Te voy a hacer sentir todo."

And then he thrust forward, in one strong, unbroken move.

Carina gasped again; but this time, it was in pleasure.

For several minutes, he kept his thrusts short, moving with powerful restraint; but the potential of what she could instinctively feel he was building towards – it sent thrills all the way up through her stomach. She knew he was holding himself back. But be she ever so impatient, he would resolutely ignore her earnest appeals for him to hurry.

He was infuriatingly, stubbornly in command of the pace of their lovemaking.

Carina arched and tossed her head backwards onto the faded grey pillow as he took her almost languidly, his eyes half-closed and a strange smile on his face, while she uttered incoherent pleas for him to bring his devastating rhythm to a merciful close before she went mad.

"No mercy," he bent his mouth over her naked breasts, lips startlingly black around her pale skin. "There is _no_ mercy."

In the growing dawn filtering in through the cabin, she could see his glistening mouth, wet from laying so many inky kisses on her.

She moaned as he slid in another slow, powerful thrust.

He brought his hand to rest firmly in the cleft where her thigh met her groin, and used the pressure of his thumb to make more of his now trademark circles, hard on her thin skin. Carina convulsed and cried out at the mingled sensations of his hard touch, the way he filled her so completely, so utterly and so perfectly. It was as if she had never been made to fit with anyone else. Except him.

Placing his other hand under her chin, he bent forward and gently kissed away her sharp cries. She sighed contentedly as his tongue slipped skilfully between her lips, eager for his kiss.

She'd never been romantic in her life. _Ever_ in her life. But she swore now she would live off of his kisses forever if she could. And it was because of his kisses that she'd long ago given up any thought as to who was navigating the Silent Mary. She only vaguely remembered Salazar growling in a low voice to Lesaro at some point at the cabin door, before shutting it firmly again and returning to the bed.

The memory of his absence from her, brief though it had been, caused a dark wave of hunger to burst inside; made her impatiently rock her hips harder against his, made her reach up and clutch at his wild hair as it swirled above.

"I need you," she insisted, voice almost breaking in her desperation.

A bolt of heat shot up through her as he started to build his rhythm.

She breathed in, tensing around his hard length, and involuntarily shifted her legs apart even wider.

Capitán Salazar could not remember another woman before her.

Nor did he wish to.

She sighed through stained lips as he kissed her, welcoming his tongue as eagerly as if she were parched in the desert, and he were a cup of cool water. He lifted himself up again on his arms, enjoying the sight of her spread out underneath him, her hair fanning around her head on the pillow, and the _feel_ of her – he would swear he'd never felt anything as good as her clenching around his erection, her slim legs smoothing over the backs of his as she moved with him, her sweet breasts rising and falling gently as she moaned deliriously – _because he was inside her_ – and he wished he could be inside her, forever.

It was pleasant, the slow rocking rhythm he'd led her in, after the initial pain had faded; but he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. Soon, he'd be overtaken by the delicious wet heat between her legs, and he'd need, finally, to give into the growing ache for release.

But not yet.

Not until she was ready.

He'd been successful in winning her over so far, he was not going to lose the battle now.

She rocked her hips impatiently, her eyes bright and feverish with urgency; but he kept his thrusts gentle, waiting in between each of his movements, watching her face as he did so.

"I need you..." she pleaded, her hands tangling through his hair.

Dark flared between them.

He began to build his rhythm.

She gasped, invitingly letting her legs fall open even wider.

She pressed her mouth up against his skin, wherever she could taste him, as he moved against her – his shoulder, his chest, his neck – she swiped at his lips with her tongue, and seemed to hold the taste of him in her mouth like it was a rich bouquet.

Carina wanted more.

He was being too gentle, too careful.

She wanted his abandon.

"Harder," she whispered. "Please, Armando."

"Mi amada, you are not ready for me," he murmured back.

"No, please, please, don't hold back!" She grabbed his face between both her hands, and held him still. "I can take it!" She kissed him hard. "I can take you, just… _please_ …"

"If I do, it will hurt," he warned her. "I will not be gentle."

"Don't you want me!" Her mouth was hard against his.

"You don't know how much I want you, mi amada –" he growled.

"Then show me!" She hissed. "Show me how much you want me!"

It was the right thing to say – she knew it was – because then he lurched into her like a ship losing its mooring, and she nearly screamed with the unexpected pleasure his sudden drive gave her.

"Oh – my – god – " She moaned breathlessly with his brutal thrusts.

"Mi adorado, mi amada," he growled back. "¡He querido tocarte desde hace tanto tiempo!"

She felt the meaning of his Spanish more than she understood it, and wrapped his wild hair around her fingers as she arched up in time with him, letting him have as much of her as she could physically give.

"Don't hold back!" She panted, the by-now familiar ecstasy starting to unfurl between her legs as he began to thrust harder and harder. "Don't – hold back!"

He drove into her, arms wrapping under her waist, his mouth between her breasts, pulling her to himself in time with each thrust.

"Don't stop!" Carina cried, as she felt the wave coming for her.

She threw her head back against the pillow, the motion smashing his head down into her breasts as she fisted her hands wildly in his hair, her legs stiffening as the bliss overtook her.

"Ah, mi amada," he groaned deliriously. "Mi amada!"

And she felt him strain inside her, and a welcoming cool rush of wetness filled her.

For a long time he lay there on her, and she didn't mind his weight at all; both of them finally, utterly sated, as the soft dawn light bathed them with a pleasant pale blue.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> ¡Ven aquí! – Come here
> 
> Seré suave – I'll be gentle
> 
> Bien, bien – Good, good
> 
> Bien, eso es – Good, that's it
> 
> Te castigaré con placeres y dolores! – I will punish you with (both) pleasure and pain
> 
> Mi adorado – My beloved
> 
> Mi amada – My sweetheart
> 
> ¿Estás bien? – Are you alright?
> 
> No me moveré - I won't move
> 
> Voy a hacer que supliques – I'm going to make you beg
> 
> Te voy a hacer sentir todo – I'm going to make you feel everything
> 
> He querido tocarte desdehace tanto tiempo – I've wanted to touch you for so long
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: Women did not wear underwear/panties in the 1700s. Apparently, under all the hoops and petticoats etc, it was pantaloons, and under that – nothing. And perfectly acceptable for those times.


	9. Of Skirts and Shifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be warned: Explicit Sexual Content, very NSFW.

Carina reluctantly emerged from the most wonderful dream.

A dream where she drank endless pure dark from the most exquisite silver, drinking until it spilled from her mouth, curled lush tendrils down around her breasts, and flared out in black-blooded skirts. It even skimmed over her palms, soft as the hems of those skirts the rich ladies wore, who used to glide sanctimoniously through her childhood orphanage; only, unlike those velvet hems jerked disdainfully out of her curious touch, _this_ velvet cherished it: caressing, enveloping, awakening.

She spun in a circle, the velvet tendrils simultaneously blossoming out and digging its roots into her heart as she laughed and danced to the deep, resonating drone-like music, that drew in and out, in and out...

It was _hers_ , it promised. Belonging to her alone.

She threw back her head, stretching her arms up, revelling in the way _her_ dark moved so accommodatingly, smoothing up her ribs to cup her breasts.

"Estás tan pálida..." The dark kissed her neck. "So pale, little Carina…"

She knew that voice… involuntarily, her tongue wet her lips.

"Are you dreaming?" The dark rasped.

"Yes," she told it. "I think so. But I wish you were real."

"I am real," it told her. "This is not a dream."

"It isn't?"

The dark tightened around her waist. "Despertar de cualquier sueño en el que te encuentres. Be with me, Carina."

She woke fully to the solid weight of an arm slanting over her waist, a large hand tucked possessively over her breasts, and the sound of pained breaths, drawing in and out, against her ear.

He must've been waiting and listening for her to wake, must've heard the change in her own breathing and felt her stir; for she hadn't even opened her mouth to speak again when his voice rumbled pleasantly through her back, "Buenos días, Carina."

"Armando," she smiled as she turned in his arms.

And then sucked in a breath.

He tensed.

Facing him again in the bright morning light, Carina saw the effects of his curse clearer than ever: the desiccated skin, the supernatural tint to his eyes, the black bile dribbling down his chin. She saw the blackened, charred bones of his cheek, the sharp edges of his skull as his hair swayed back in the invisible tides of a faraway sea, limned in golden light like a halo. A true angel of Death.

But it wasn't dread of his curse that made her forget to breathe; no. Far from it.

Lying here, in his arms, Capitán Salazar's wounds now struck a different note. She didn't see a monster hollowed out by his own empty obsession with revenge. She saw power. She saw breathtaking strength. The iron will of a man who'd refused to crumble under an unimaginable horror that would've made most others lie down in defeat.

And she felt a little of that power now, flowing through her; as though by the mutual sharing of their bodies, it had recognised something kindred in her too, and had shared itself between them. She welcomed it.

As Carina mutely studied him, Salazar imagined he saw regret in her face; and, unsure of her continued silence, started to withdraw his arm from around her.

"No." She laid a hand on his naked chest.

He paused.

She looked at the skin beneath her pale fingers, and in the cool shadows under the aged sheets, it was almost impossible to see the difference in skin tone between them.

She traced the surprisingly soft, light grey cracks spidering over his chest, emptying like countless streams into a single river of black that stretched up the side of his neck, all the way to the edge of his broken skull.

He held himself still as he let her touch the skull-bone, her white fingers tingling in the place where the back of his head used to be. To see, and to _feel_ , the evidence of the power that was sustaining his existence… it was the closest thing to a religious experience she had ever had in her life.

At the orphanage, one of the sisters would recite nightly stories of the saints – eying Carina in particular as she stressed, in her thin and reedy voice, that only the holiest and most virtuous were able to channel the miraculous.

Privately, Carina thought all the stories utter fabrication, and it made her skin itch when the sisters went on and on about miracles and healings and angels and demons. She would paste on an attentive face, but inwardly she would be grinding her teeth.

But now, she found herself closer to being a believer in all things miraculous than ever before.

If Capitán Salazar existed, what else was possible?

He should be impossible. _Touching him_ should be impossible. Like touching a star. It _should_ be impossible, but here he was, and here her hand was, and there her finger was, _inside where his skull should be_.

She saw the colour of his eyes change, a colour she hadn't seen them have before – a soft hazel.

It almost hurt her to look at him, realising that this was how he died. These were the wounds he suffered. This was his blackened death-blood. His constricted lungs. Each breath, painfully laboured like a man breathing his last.

"Do you feel it?" She asked without thinking. "Do you feel the pain even now?"

She felt the hard rise of his chest as he raked in a wheezing breath, surprised at her question.

"You really wish to know?"

She nodded once.

"The pain never stops." He took her hand away, and held it against his chest. "But I am used to it. We all are."

Carina would, under normal circumstances, never have asked someone like Capitán Salazar what she asked next. But the night, the dream, and the revelation of the power in this man, made her dare. "How did you die?"

"I don't remember," he said, after a length of silence. "After we sailed into the Triangle, it all happened so fast. I only remember falling. But between sailing in and the fall – a blur."

"Did you feel it when it happened?"

"The pain?" he tilted his head at her. "Or death?"

"Death." She said softly.

"After I fell…" He shook his head, clamping his lips from speaking further.

Carina pulled her fingers out from his grip, to close both her small hands reassuringly over his. "Tell me."

He looked down at their clasped hands.

"I have never told anyone this…" He threaded his fingers through hers, holding her hands even tighter against his chest. "But I will tell you. I stood on a wide open plain, the sun setting behind me, a deep chasm before me. I was turning away, thinking I would watch the sun set one last time, but just as I turned, something pulled me backwards into the chasm. And then I woke in the sea. Cursed. Not alive, but not dead. Exactly as I am now. Sometimes, I think if I'd turned in time, everything would have been different."

"What do you think you would've seen, if you'd turned?"

He shook his head. "Who knows. All I know is, I was denied it. And some days, I wish I had been allowed it. I wish I had been allowed death."

He looked away.

But it was too late. Carina had already seen it: a deep despair, slipping out through the grate of his rage, before quickly being pulled back.

If he couldn't control it, she had the feeling his despair would weaken the power inside him. And that alone made her determined.

Such power as his was too beautiful to be compromised.

She didn't waste time trying to console him with pointless words. She put her hands on his cheeks, turned his head back towards her, and kissed him. She kissed his lips, kissed each corner of his mouth, kissed his cheeks, taking her time, letting each kiss speak for itself.

She came back to his mouth, and flicked her tongue over the inky black, and sighed happily. He tasted just as rich as ever. She slipped her tongue between his lips, indulging herself.

Salazar closed his eyes when he felt her feather-soft lips on his black ones.

When he felt her hot tongue invade his mouth, he wound his arms tighter around her, pulling her until she sprawled across him.

"You kiss me like you're starving," he growled.

She lifted her head to laugh, stroking back his unruly hair floating between them.

"Carina…" he breathed.

"I will help you in any way I can, Armando," she promised between kisses. "Whatever you want."

"Is that so?" he smiled.

"Yes," she sucked his lip between her teeth, closing her eyes in utter bliss, before letting go with a hum of contentment.

"If it's still the Trident you want, I will take you there," she smiled back. "We won't have lost too much time."

"Ah," Salazar came reluctantly down to earth. "The Trident."

"Yes, the Trident." Grinning, she nibbled on his lip once more before rolling to the side, leaning over towards the edge of the bed to look at the floor.

She frowned. "Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"My journal." She leaned further, long hair falling forward as she looked. "I'm sure I brought it with me…"

"It's in safe hands, Carina."

Carina stiffened, still looking at the floor.

"It is safe, with Lieutenant Lesaro," Salazar caressed her waist gently. "Come back here."

A tendril of dark began to twist inside her.

"What."

"It is with my Lieutenant," he repeated. "He knocked on the door and asked if they should continue navigating in the night, so I gave it to him. They have been using it while you were –" his lips lifted slyly, "Otherwise occupied. We won't have lost any time at all."

Carina whirled on him, dark tendrils bursting at the edge of her vision.

"You had no right to do that!"

Salazar stared, before grinning in sardonic amusement. "You forget, Señorita, who the Capitán of this ship is."

" _What_?"

"It is no longer your journal," his grin widened, and he leaned back against the pillows, watching her.

"I _beg_ your pardon?" She knew her mouth was open in shock and speechless anger, but she didn't care. The arrogance of him was astounding; the tendrils webbed around her periphery as she narrowed her gaze on him.

"I took custody of it, since you… lost interest in navigating. As Capitán, I cannot allow any lapse in the running of my ship."

After the raw beauty of the night they'd had – that she thought they'd had – she was more than a little confounded at his words. She was enraged.

"It wasn't yours to take!" She glared, fists tightening.

His eyes flared, and he smiled dangerously. That smile should have prepared her for what happened next. Because he was suddenly up on his knees, grabbing her by the arm and jerking her in close.

"I said _I_ am the Capitán!" he hissed in her face. "And this is _my_ ship! Everything on this ship is mine, including your precious journal, including _you_!"

Dark exploded through her, her vision clouded utterly, and she struck him, the force of it smacking his head into the wall above the bed.

Carina stared in shock at her hand.

And then at him.

"A-Armando…" She stuttered.

But Salazar was laughing delightedly as he turned back to face her. "Ah, Carina, all this time, you've been holding back!"

Something was wrong with her.

"What's happened to me?" she whispered.

"I confess, I did wonder…" he bared black teeth in a grin. "But if I had to guess, amor mío, I would say you have become – infected."

She stared in horror at him.

"What have you done to me?" she whispered.

"Nothing," he chuckled. "Nothing you didn't _beg_ me to do."

Carina felt her stomach drop. This dark, the dark that she had dreamed of, the dark that she had revelled in, wasn't her imagination, or the product of a lack of good sleep. No, this dark was the curse. The same curse Capitán Salazar had. The curse all his men had. And now she had it too. Her dark… was the curse. Now her curse, manifested inside her.

She needed to leave.

She needed to leave, and get her journal and – and she had no idea what on earth she was going to do next.

The curse inside settled, soothing her, curling over her skin. She could feel it, the dark tendrils from her dream, enveloping her with their seductive touch.

Unsteadily, she threw off the sheets and walked stiffly to the corner of the cabin, where her shift lay on the floor from the night before.

Behind her, Salazar's amusement faded as he said, "You are mistaken, little Carina, if you think you are leaving this cabin."

He was serious, no hint of laughter now.

"Are you going to stop me?" She pulled on the shift, ignoring the fact that it was damp and stained from lying on rotten floorboards most of the night.

"Sí," he answered. "I might even have Lesaro bring the chains from the brig, if I have to."

"Oh really," Carina laughed sarcastically. "Would like to see you try!"

Salazar slid out of bed, and stalked towards her, tense with anger.

"Do you doubt I can?" He hissed.

"If you _think_ –" Carina snapped her gaze to him, ready to do battle. And then bit down on her tongue.

Capitán Salazar was naked.

It was the first time she'd clearly seen him naked.

She'd been so _hungry_ for his kisses, so violent as they'd tumbled through the dim cabin, through the door into his sleeping quarters, and onto the bed together; so impatient to have him, she hadn't even considered savouring the view once he'd been naked.

She'd been all eager cries and desperate moans, tearing at his burnt and blackened uniform, not even wondering if it could come off or not, just wanting it _off_.

And he'd chuckled, murmuring about the etiquette of the lady always preceding the gentleman, and she'd snorted about being ladylike, right before she'd flung her shift off and carelessly away. Before renewing her attack on his clothes.

But now, in the morning light, she could see him. All of him. And, in spite of her anger, her horror at what had happened to her, her confusion and fear, she found herself actually… liking what she saw.

Without his uniform, without the habitual crutch of the scabbard he leant on, he stood straighter. And he was lean – leaner than she realised. Broad shouldered, pleasantly muscled, grey skin fading to pale white towards the pronounced V of his hips. The black cracks that marred his face and chest did not stretch over all of him, a fact that became obvious the further down her eyes travelled.

His eyes flared under her silent perusal, but he said nothing, his fierce expression melting into a far more calculating one. He reached up to lean a hand on a ceiling beam above his head, stretching himself in an obvious display, letting the other hand rest loosely against his thigh, close enough almost to touch –

Carina blinked and swallowed.

He looked good. He looked very, _very_ good.

Maybe the uniform, with its bulk and its layers, and the way it floated in ghostly tatters, maybe _that_ was what had given the lie to what he truly looked like without it.

She shouldn't be staring. But now that she'd started, she couldn't stop.

His manhood was starting to move and strain, as though responding to her gaze. As though it liked her looking at it. Carina had had no idea what a man's privates even looked like until now, and she couldn't help wondering how he would compare to another man.

Looking at his swollen size, she had an idea that other men, even living men, would _not_ compare favourably next to him. And he'd been inside her with it. Her thighs clenched together involuntarily, and a shiver of heat swept up from between her legs, all the way to her hairline.

"¿Te gusta lo que ves?" he purred.

Carina didn't know what he'd just said, but the way he was smiling, and the raising of his eyebrows, left no question as to the direction of his thoughts.

Shaking herself out of her stupor, she growled, "No. I'm going to go get my journal."

She hadn't even reached down to open the door that led from his bedroom into the main cabin when he slammed a hand over her shoulder against it.

"Carina." His breath was cold on the back of her neck.

She turned as he pressed his other hand against the door, trapping her between his arms.

"I will not be disobeyed."

"And I'm not one of your men, to be ordered about!"

"No?"

He pressed in close to her. She could feel his desire, hard, against her hip. Tendrils of living dark, the presence of the curse inside her, coiled and uncoiled in anticipation. She tried to ignore it.

"Let me out," she hissed, her insides twisting, arousal warring with self-control.

"No." He slowly rolled his hips, letting his rigid length drag tantalisingly across her skin.

Her lips parted at his boldness. She could feel the dark curse inside spread out more than ever, all through her body; curling and stretching at an alarming rate, whispering _desire_ , whispering _power_.

"Don't," she warned, though whether it was to herself or him she couldn't say.

"And what are you going to do, to stop me?"

He was close enough that she could see the changes in his iris, in a way she hadn't been able to in the night: hazel shot through with rippling striations of gold and red. His pupils grew even larger as she stared up at him, and he stared back with a blatant craving that made the curse croon _want_.

"Don't look at me like that," she whispered.

"But, mi amada," he bent his head closer, "I like looking at you."

Tendrils of velvet dark purred and bloomed invisibly out of her chest, making her gasp and stiffen against the cabin door. She was fighting a losing battle, and she knew it, but still she resisted.

"Don't call me that."

"Mi amada?" He stopped inches short of her lips. "Would you prefer me to call you amor mío, then? Call you 'my love'?"

The curse yearned towards him; she wondered that he couldn't sense it. Unless he did. And was drawing it on purpose…

She felt a nudge against her thigh, and in her distraction made the mistake of looking down. Saw up close the thick patch of dark curls. The pale but proud arousal that he flaunted. The way it throbbed, as though eager to –

She forgot to breathe.

"I like looking at you," his own gaze lowered to the evidence of her hardened nipples, pearling through the sorry excuse of a shift. "Just as much, I think, as you like looking at me."

Carina drew a sharp breath into struggling lungs.

 _Want…_ the curse urged. _Take…_

"Carina," he started to say, that calculating smile curving his black lips. "Amor –"

Another sharp breath in.

And then Carina reached up, yanked down on a lock of floating hair, and slammed her lips against his mouth.

Whatever he was going to say was lost in the violence of their kiss.

Then she was shoving him backwards, towards the bed, not stopping until the back of his legs hit the edges of the bedframe. With chilling strength she tossed him onto the grey mattress, crawled up his body, and kissed him again. Salazar opened his mouth, letting her ravish his lips and tongue and teeth. He cupped his hand hard between her legs, sliding a finger inside, making her gasp. He smiled with triumph and took his hand away to roll her onto her back, rising over her.

"You're playing with me!" She complained as he'd pulled his hand back.

"Patience," he replied, nipping up her neck.

But she wouldn't lie down, sitting up to pin her legs around his hips, to draw his groin in flush against her.

"So eager, but I thought last night I taught you to _wait_ ," he shifted his hips back away from hers, bending to kiss her collarbone.

Dark billowed around her.

Carina placed her hands on his shoulders and squeezed.

Salazar lifted his head up slowly at her iron grip, hair swimming out.

"I'm done with waiting," her eyes burned. "I'll have you, and then I'll leave this cabin and have my journal. In that order."

"Ah?" He yanked the front of her shift in his fist. "You are a busy lady."

Carina didn't even flinch. "Precisely."

"Mi dulce amor," he purred.

And then jerked his fist down.

The sound of her shift tearing was loud in the cabin.

Straight down the middle, from neck to hem.

And it split directly into Carina's mind, that it was the exact echo of the sound of Henry's and Jack's shirts being ripped to their waist, as Salazar had stood by, smiling cruelly as his men had prepared them to be whipped.

She snarled at him, baring her teeth like a feral creature, fingers raking down his chest as she shoved him away from her.

" _Now_ , you can't leave," he grinned.

"Just _watch_ me." She didn't even bother to pull together the two sad halves of the tattered shift, letting them flutter against her sides. "I'll go out there naked if I have to!"

His eyes lit red, he surged back, wresting her legs apart, grasping her head in his hands, plunging his cold tongue into her mouth. It thrilled him when she made a strangled sound of pleasure deep in her throat, and before he even knew it, her hips rose and she took him in.

"Amor mío," she breathed against his lips. "Armando, my love..."

He broke their kiss, looking at her in shock and awe.

She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, a corner of her mouth curling up in a wry smile, and she said again, "Amor mío…"

And as he looked into her clear blue eyes, he knew it was Carina saying it, knowing what she said, saying it on purpose; and not mere curse-driven lust.

But then her eyes glazed over, and she began to drive her hips hard and fast, grinding down on him in wild abandon.

This time, their lovemaking wasn't the controlled tempo Salazar had maintained before. It was savage. Carina bit at his chest, scratched down his back, and cried for more, even as he fought for control of their crazed pace.

"Slower, amor mío, slower!"

He wrapped his hands about her waist, wanting to savour her, not wanting to rush, but she growled and thrust him onto his back, torn shift flying out behind her.

She trapped his hips between her legs, pinning his wrists firmly into the mattress above his head.

He bucked against her, driving his hips up, making her cry out; she attacked his lips again, devouring him furiously.

He rolled, trying to topple her. She refused to be moved. He tried again. She let go of his wrists to try and shrug the tatters of her shift off, growling when they clung stubbornly to her shoulders; and he grunted, tugging at the torn shift with her, wanting it off just as much as she did, tearing it again in his ruthlessness. She snatched the shift back out of his hands; and in the tussle for it, he fell forward on top of her. She flipped him over onto his back to straddle him once more.

Twisting the shift into a rope, she looped it through a jagged hole blown in the once-elegant wooden bedhead.

"It's _my_ turn now!" Her eyes glowed fiercely. "I'm in charge!"

He grinned as she snatched his wrists in a fierce grip, yanking his arms up over his head. But it was a grin that told her she was walking an edge no one else had ever dared walk with him.

"Think you can restrain _me_ , Carina?"

In reply, she viciously yanked tight the knots around him, first one wrist and then the other, testing them against the bedhead to make sure they held.

Her belly was as tight as the knots she'd tied his wrists in, but she was not going to give up now. His arms flexed, muscles moving powerfully under pale skin, as he pulled at the restraints, but they held fast.

He was hers to do whatever she wanted to.

It should've angered him.

It should've humiliated him.

It didn't.

He was trapped beneath her, completely at her mercy, and the reality of it made his manhood harder than it had ever been. That she'd been able to overpower him was incredible, and that she laid him out so casually to use him for her own pleasure was something no other woman had ever done.

If she thought she'd bested him by simply taking away his hands, however, she had a lesson to learn.

He flexed his lower muscles, making himself twitch inside of her. Carina paused at the sensation. He gave her a downright evil smile and did it again. Carina's eyes grew feverishly bright. She licked her lips.

"I… I didn't know you could do that," her voice was hoarse.

"There are a great many things," he rolled his body like a wave, tight, controlled, and she gasped, "You do not know, amor mío."

He did it once more, and Carina closed her eyes, moaning at the feel of him.

Seeing her distracted, he yanked at his restraints in an effort to tear himself free, but she was too quick; reaching out to smack his hands until they went slack.

"No," she chided gently, "This is not about you taking me."

She forced her hips down against his, stopping any more movement of his pelvis, and flexed herself around him.

"This is about me taking you."

His eyes flared gold.

"When I get free, Carina," he breathed in, "I will _chain_ you to this bed, I will make you beg –"

"Oh, Armando," she said, like a teacher gently scolding her favourite pupil. "What makes you think that I'll be the one begging?"

She started again, flawlessly resuming the punishing, brutal speed from before. The sound of his laboured breathing, the look of mingled pain and desire on his face… it made her feel more powerful than she ever had in her life. She made sure he could feel every inch of her clenching around his shaft with every stroke, and when he bit back a whimper, she felt a fresh wave of wetness between her legs.

"I'll take you at my pace," she panted.

A groan slipped out from between his parted lips.

"And for my pleasure," she slipped one hand between them to rub at the same spot he'd hit the previous night, the one that sent her to the heart of a star and now made tendrils of dark wind around her core.

He tried not to close his eyes, but the feeling of her around him, the sight of her over him, the sheer helplessness of being unable to control anything, made him fling his head back and squeeze his eyes shut as he shouted her name, his release coming for him like an unstoppable, rolling wave.

"My desire," she switched the pace, faltering only for a second before finding an angle that made the muscles in her thighs tremble and a high pitched whine squeeze out of her throat.

The release he'd been so sure he was about to have stalled, and he groaned in frustration.

She tilted her head back, and he felt the silk of her hair against his calves as she leaned back on her hands, slotting their bodies together even tighter.

The switch in angle only served to deepen the sweet torturous sensations, and he fought against it. He decided he would _not_ concede to her. She sensed his stubborn resistance, flicking him a single, devilish smile; before tilting her head back again.

She continued riding him like that for a long minute, and he watched the lean line of her belly that slid up to her full breasts, the sight of her grinding their dark curls together, the barest hint of where he disappeared inside of her, and he had to resist the urge to cant his hips.

Carina pulled herself back up into a sitting position, hands coming to rest on his firm chest.

He made himself twitch again, just to see the angry lust flare in her eyes, and she hissed at him.

"Stop trying to control me! I'm – not –" She rose her hips up, "One of your men!" She plunged down. "I'm here –" Up again, "Because I choose to be!" She ground down harder, making him groan between tight lips. "You cannot command me and – you cannot – control me!"

She wound her hips in a languidly slow figure eight, an infinity symbol, and he strained against her, the mix of pleasure and pain becoming nigh unbearable. He needed more from her.

He needed her savagery.

He would give anything now for her to ride him with the same unrestrained brutality she'd had minutes before, but now she would not allow him the release he craved.

"Por favor, Carina," his voice broke. "Por favor…"

Her eyes glittered with malice. "Still think I'm a lost little girl, Capitán?"

"No…" He strained out, his expression close to delirium. "No, Señorita…"

Carina felt the creep of a tendril along her spine, plucking at her nerves, and started to drive the pace forward one last time.

"Still think I'm a beggar?" She fisted a lock of his hair.

Unable to speak from the intense pleasure her sudden change of pace gave him, he shook his head.

"Still think I'm common?"

"I _never_ – thought that!" His eyes burned.

"But you _said_ it!" She slammed her hips down.

"If – it hurts you – so much," he tried to sneer up at her as she rode him, "Then it's only because – _you_ worry – that's what you are!"

"Then tell me," she gasped out. "Tell what I am!"

She felt him start to swell inside of her, his pleasure cresting, but she wasn't ready yet.

"Tell me!"

" _Carina_!"

With a roar, he pulled at the fraying fabric tethering his wrists, frenzied to the brink of insanity. She didn't care, she was so close, the curse blossoming through her and around her, a living thing. _Crack!_ The wood gave, and he was up, twisted rag dangling from one wrist, the other still caught tightly against the headboard, as he used his free arm to grasp her greedily to himself.

She let go then, the darkness of her curse holding her up as the rest of her flew into pieces. She cried out his name in one long breath, vaguely aware that he was pounding up into her three, four times, hard, deep, punishing, and then he crushed her to himself as he came, spilling himself inside of her in one long rush.

She clasped her hands about his back; another, smaller orgasm rolling through her. The slick, cool feeling of his spent seed sending an answering wave through her, another pulse to milk a second wave of seed out of him.

As his eyes were closed and his head snapped back, the strong cords of his neck stood out to her. Without even thinking about it, she leaned forward and kissed one taut tendon before opening her jaws and sinking her teeth into his skin. He gave a deep-throated cry, human and inhuman, as she rotated her hips once more over his still firm erection, sucking muscle into her mouth hard enough to bruise.

With one last scrape of her teeth across his skin, she released his neck and sat up. His eyes locked on her with a glare that promised a divine retribution for her actions. Not knowing what came over her, she sent him a wink and slid off of him. Her body ached, feeling suddenly empty, and she felt a wet rush down her thighs.

He collapsed back, completely spent. He barely felt the dip of the mattress as she climbed off the bed, barely opening one eye to see his residue glittering on her thighs in the sunlight.

He had not felt this exhausted since dying.

He turned his head as she picked up his coat without a care, holding it up against her.

"Carina," he called cautiously, "What are you doing?"

She ignored him. Satisfied the coat would cover everything important, she began to shrug it on and button it closed.

"Carina?" He watched the telltale dampness of her thighs disappear under the decrepit fabric, his mind slowly catching up to what his eyes were seeing.

"Carina!" Alarmed, he struggled to sit up, pulling at the wrist that still remained bound. "You cannot wear my uniform!"

"Then you should not have torn my shift!"

She whirled on him, annoyed and looking far too fetching with her long legs exposed but the rest of her hidden away underneath a coat that represented everything he'd built for himself.

He pulled again at the shift that kept him tied to the bed in silent fury, trying to get free, but it had twisted too tightly.

"I told you," she flicked her hair out over the coat. "I was going to leave this cabin, and get my journal." Her gaze darkened as she raked her eyes over him, "After I had you."

She turned towards him fully, and for the briefest second, Salazar saw her eyes flare.

"See you at the wheel, Capitán."

And with that, she left.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Estás tan pálida – You're so pale
> 
> Despertar de cualquier sueño en el que te encuentres – Wake up from whatever dream you're in
> 
> Te gusta lo que ves – Do you like what you see
> 
> Amor mío – Love of mine (possessive)
> 
> Mi amada – My sweetheart
> 
> Mi dulce amor – My sweet love


	10. Of Coats And Courses

The sun was fitful in the overcast morning sky.

As lookout, Bracero had been companionably passing the time with the gulls, watchfully scanning the horizon from his makeshift perch at the top of the mizzenmast.

Ever since La María Silenciosa's main mast had been destroyed beyond repair decades before, the crow's nest that had sat atop it had been lost. But after their release from the Devil's Triangle, Bracero had been quietly working on building a second crow's nest atop the Quarterdeck's mast, using tarred ropes and the broken pieces leftover from the Monarch.

Finally, after been banished all night below decks at the Capitán's orders, Bracero had returned to his proper place high up on La María; and he'd been able to finish it before the sun had risen.

As he'd sat on his completed crow's nest, however, he'd felt the heavily dampened mood of the crew below him. No one had spoken much during the night. No one had known what to think about the Capitán's 'punishment' for the Señorita.

But unlike him, they hadn't seen the way the Capitán looked at her. And they'd missed the frank and unafraid way he'd seen her touching the Capitán, or the way he'd shyly showed her his pocketwatch. The way they both seemed to stand closer and closer together at the wheel.

Bracero had come to enjoy the power of being able to see, from his vantage point as he'd worked, everything that had been happening on the ship. From his height, he'd seen Lesaro and Magda's increasingly protective guard over the woman. Cortez's sour face as he no doubt complained to anyone who'd listen about _Un Inglesa_. And more interesting than all of them, of course, Capitán Salazar's growing obsession with the Señorita.

Bracero had noticed it first in the Capitán, from the way he spent every minute on deck either watching her, or standing beside her, or arguing with her. He'd had occasion to wish he could still eat, because then he would have happily sat up on his perch, munching away while watching the drama below him unfold. It had truly been better than any opera or play he'd seen back in Spain, back when he and Benetez were still human – when they used to sneak ashore to watch whatever was currently playing. Benetez had always brought the madeira on their secret forays into whatever city they'd happened to be docking at, and Bracero had usually been able to scrounge up some extra rations from old Navarre, though each time he would scratch his thick grey beard and shake his head at them for sneaking off without permission.

"Polishing the glass too thin," Navarre would say. "One day it'll break."

"Old Grandpa Sailor," Bracero would always affectionately tease him back, and Navarre would make a show of shuffling away on purpose, pretending to be deeply offended, while Bracero cheekily sneaked the old man's rations away.

Bracero let himself slip into the memories of the life they'd had before they'd died. Before they'd been cursed. He leant back against the mizzenmast as he remembered those nights with Benetez, looking out at the clear blue sea before him.

Like Santos, he had an unshakeable belief that their curse would be broken. Something about Señorita Smyth inspired belief; he hadn't felt this optimistic in decades.

Suddenly, on the horizon, he spotted something. He leant forward, supernatural sight sharpening.

It was a ship.

"¡Un barco!" He called down to Moss below. "¡Diez millas fuera!"

Moss looked up at Bracero, and then in the direction he was pointing. He peered into the distance, hands gripping the rail forward of the wheel. He thought he glimpsed, bobbing up briefly, the white sails of a ship, distinct against the cerulean sea.

"Lieutenant!" Moss called back to Lesaro, who was standing next to Magda at the helm. "Lieutenant Lesaro!"

Lesaro did not answer. Seemingly focused on the journal in his hands, he gave no indication that he had heard Moss. Magda cast Moss a swift glance, before lifting a finger from the wheel he steered: a gesture of warning to Moss to wait.

Lesaro continued to stare, unseeing, at the pages he held.

It had been hours since the cries of Señorita Smyth had abruptly stopped on the Quarterdeck. Hours since he had knocked on the Capitán's door, and had the journal thrust unceremoniously into his hands, before the Capitán had slammed the door shut in his face. Hours since he had taken up position next to Officer Magda at the wheel, standing and staring down at Carina's journal.

The crew had not asked why he stayed on the same page, his mouth tightly drawn down. They didn't need to ask why his single eye seemed to be looking through the journal, rather than at it. They knew why.

Moss stepped forward, careful to be polite as he called for Lesaro's attention once more. "Lieutenant..."

"¿Perdon?" He looked up distractedly.

"Lieutenant," Moss repeated. "There's a ship to port!"

Closing the journal, Lesaro had the eye-glass up instantly, searching in the direction indicated. But his single-eyed gaze, even powered by the curse, could not see what Bracero and Moss had. Beside him, Magda steadily continued steering, both hands on the wheel.

"How far off?"

"Bracero reports no more than ten miles off."

"Close enough," Lesaro muttered, snapping the glass down. "Pass the word to the Capitán, that –"

"That won't be necessary," called a clear, feminine voice.

All the Officers on the quarterdeck turned.

And gaped.

Señorita Smyth stood just in front of the Capitán's cabin door, barefoot, loose hair billowing in the stiff breeze, wearing Capitán Salazar's coat.

Wearing only his coat.

The coat's hem floated around her slim legs, its stiff burnt cloth buttoned up to her neck; its charred grey colour highlighting the cobalt blue of her eyes, the paleness of her cheeks.

Lieutenant Lesaro heard Moss' audible gasp at the rail, at the same time that Cortez muttered something crude in Spanish. Lesaro's own incredulous gaze lowered from Carina's face down to her bare feet.

The coat continued to sway to its own internal rhythm, skimming around her knees. Lesaro was sure there were men on board who had never seen so much as a lady's ankle alive, and here she was, baring more leg than any of them knew what to do with.

"And why," Lesaro raised his gaze back up to hers, "Señorita Smyth, is it not necessary?"

"Because Capitán Salazar will be joining us shortly." Carina had never lied so easily in her life. "You may inform him then."

None of them spoke.

In the face of so much silence, the triumph Carina had felt as she'd left Capitán Salazar began to wilt.

But Carina's intelligence was the strong rock she built her sense of confidence on. It was one of the earliest lessons she could remember: that she could depend on her intelligence to get her through, even when all else failed. And she'd used her intelligence to worm her way out of far more awkward situations than this.

Not that she'd ever faced anything even _remotely_ similar to staring down four cursed Spanish Officers.

After losing her virtue to their Capitán.

Their Capitán... who was still, she stubbornly hoped, struggling and bound to his bed in the cabin behind her.

But she could do this, she knew she could; so she ignored the others, straightened her spine, smoothed down the coat, and strode forward to Lesaro with a confidence in her own abilities that was at complete odds to the way her stomach was turning.

"Lieutenant Lesaro," she held her hand out to him. "I believe you have something of mine."

"Señorita," Lesaro rallied from the shock Carina's re-appearance had given him, saying, "I am under strict instructions from the Capitán not to part with your journal. Not even to you, he said."

"Did he indeed," Carina's eyes flared amber.

At the distinct shift in her eyes, Lesaro's lips pressed together in a tight frown.

"Señorita –" he started to say.

"I would absolve you of your commands, Lieutenant," she said, "But you and I both know what he is like, therefore I offer you a truce instead. If you hand me my journal, I will follow your Capitán's orders not to give it to anyone else. Then I will navigate. Without fighting you for it."

Lesaro stared at her. When he spoke again, his voice was icy. "Where is the Capitán?"

"Lieutenant Lesaro," Carina pretended impatience, but inwardly she was quaking at the sudden chill of the Lieutenant. "I wish to have my journal back."

Lieutenant Lesaro tilted his head, so much in the manner of his Capitán, that Carina held her breath.

He had been kind to her from the outset, pleading for her life with Capitán Salazar, offering her a blanket when she was cold, and being as friendly as his position could afford him to be.

But that friendly Lieutenant was vastly different from the grim-faced one in front of her now.

Carina had to remind herself that she'd just survived and bested his Capitán in a very physical battle of wills, and used that reminder; drawing a cold comfort from it to prop herself up.

"My journal, if you please." Carina said again.

Lesaro turned to Magda, and handed him the journal.

"Continue," he said curtly to Magda.

And then without warning, Lesaro turned on Carina, whipping his rapier out to let its tip touch just under her chin.

"I dislike asking twice," Lesaro pinned her with his fierce yellow eye. "Where is Capitán Salazar?"

She couldn't help the frisson of fear that slid down her spine, and the nervous swallow that followed.

Lesaro didn't move, just set his mouth in a hard, unyielding line.

She rallied her courage, tilted her chin up and away from the sharp point of the blade, and raised one eyebrow.

"In his cabin, of course. He's rather... unavailable, shall we say."

At the further narrowing of his eye, she couldn't help shifting a little, causing the hem of the coat to ripple up and out.

Moss's mouth dropped open as her movement afforded a brief glimpse of Carina's thighs – more skin than he'd ever seen in his life.

"¡Mierde!" Cortez whistled. "He visto putas vestir más–"

Lesaro did not look away once from her face, even as he snapped, "¡Cállese!"

Cortez stifled the rest, his Spanish becoming short choked sounds that died in his throat.

Lesaro's expression became apologetic.

"I am... I am sorry for what you have had to endure," Lesaro said quietly. "It is not – it is not what any of us – it was the Capitán's orders that we did not intervene, under any circumstances–"

To Carina's surprise, Lesaro was actually stumbling over his words, his coolness wavering, breaking apart into guilt and sorrow.

"Guillermo –" Carina said gently. "It's –"

"Por favor, Señorita," the icy, stern mask slid back into place, and he pressed the tip of the blade again under her chin; hard enough for a thin line of blood to show. "I will not ask a third time."

Without warning, Carina's darkness awoke and unfurled at the sensation of the cut, thrumming along nerves, drawn to the blood. And as the darkness moved within her, somehow, Carina knew that the Lieutenant would not hesitate to inflict more pain if he thought that she had somehow injured or wounded Salazar. She didn't know how she knew this, but she felt it as sure as she felt her heart about to beat out of her chest.

"He's unharmed," she said quickly, keeping her arms at her sides, but tapping her fingers nervously against the coat, "Though he might not appreciate being caught in such a... delicate situation."

"Delicate situation." Lesaro's tone could not have sounded more flat. "You expect me to believe that our Capitán would just let you leave? That he'd just let you go, unattended, from his cabin, wearing his uniform?"

She felt her cheeks burning under his glare. "He wasn't able to – he was not in a position to stop me!"

Lesaro's single eye blazed bright with frustration. "Señorita, for the last time –"

And it was in that instant, between his frustrated growl and her racing fear, something... strange... manifested between them: an invisible whorl of power, skipping along his sword until it reached her skin with a sharp sting, making her gasp at the unexpected contact, before softening, eddying in swirls across her face and down her chest.

An echo of fragmented Spanish filtered through her conscious mind, followed by a sharp, metallic taste in her mouth, a numbness in her right arm, and then an unbearable melancholy that she knew was not her own...

Lesaro's eyes widened, his sword hand tensed almost imperceptibly, and she shuddered from the reverberations of the strange power-exchange that had just occurred between them.

"How has this evil taken root in you?" he whispered, horrified. "How are you _cursed_? I did not wish to believe it when I saw your eyes, Señorita, but I _feel_ it... faint, sí… but growing, even now –"

"Lieutenant Lesaro," came the Capitán's smooth voice. "What is the matter here?"

At the sight of Capitán Salazar standing in the doorway of his cabin, Lesaro straightened at once, and removed his rapier away from Carina; but he did not lower it.

Carina swallowed as she turned.

Salazar was dressed impeccably – his charred waistcoat buttoned over a greyed cotton shirt, a black cravat tied perfectly over his collar, leaning on his sword – and looking for all the world as though Carina wearing his coat were an everyday occurrence.

"Capitán," Lesaro answered stiffly. "Señorita Smyth –"

"Has requested her journal, sí, I know. She is to take over navigating until sunset, as before."

Lesaro hesitated, eye flicking to the prick of dark blood that had swelled at the touch of his rapier under Carina's pale chin. He flicked his gaze back towards his Capitán, the horrified look from before now one of clear and sober comprehension. He faced Capitán Salazar squarely, and did not make any attempt to hide his disapproval – or his deep anguish.

"Capitán," Lesaro said, "I must speak with you. Inmediamente."

"Lieutenant," Salazar's voice came back as a warning, soft and dangerous. "Lower your weapon. I will attend to – whatever your concerns are, in due course."

Carina felt sure the Lieutenant was going to refuse. When she could have sworn that the Lieutenant's strange anguish over Carina was going to propel him forward, cause him to whip his rapier out in a challenge against Capitán Salazar... but then it passed, and a grim determination stole over the Lieutenant's expression instead.

"Forgive me, Señorita," Lesaro nodded at Carina, sheathing his rapier with a subconscious flourish.

It was obvious to Carina that he was reluctant to be forced to wait to speak with Salazar, but he remained respectful, stepping back until he was a polite distance away. Yet Carina could see that Lesaro's single eye did not cease watching Capitán Salazar.

Carina wiped at her chin with a sleeve, her blood a black stain on Salazar's cuff, and cast a surreptitious glance towards him; but the Capitán was already striding forward, with barely a glance at her or Lieutenant Lesaro.

"Officer Magda," Salazar addressed him, "Return the Señorita's journal to her."

"Señorita," Officer Magda responded, averting his eyes from her legs.

He held out the book.

"Thank you," she took it, managing to keep her hands from shaking too much from the rush she'd felt at Capitán Salazar's presence.

Salazar turned to her, and gestured politely for her to take Magda's vacated place.

She could practically feel the change in atmosphere amongst the officers around them, could almost hear the silent exchanges between them as she stepped up towards the helm. Placing one hand on the wheel, Carina instinctively looked down to check her chronometer… her chronometer. Where had she put it? Of course it wasn't in Salazar's coat. Her hand met only buttons and burnt fabric.

Carina paled and stood very, very still.

"Are you... missing something?" Came a quiet, satisfied purr.

Carina did not look at him. He knew exactly what she was looking for.

"Where is it?" She asked, as though she couldn't care less.

"Oh, somewhere safe," he said, breezily. "I happen to be missing something as well. Perhaps, mi amada, a trade? Your chronometer for my coat?"

Carina's grip tightened on the wheel. "Then what do you propose I wear, Capitán?"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice even more. "Ah, Carina, did you not say you would come out here naked? If you had to?"

She remembered that conversation, very, very clearly. She also remembered exactly where his hands had gone immediately after she'd said it. And what she had done after that. Her throat, however, was locked very tight, and she didn't respond to him at all.

Discreetly, Salazar's fingers touched the hem of his coat against her leg, stroking against her skin in a circle. Barely even aware of what she was doing, she rubbed her thighs together, feeling a familiar heat rising.

"Putting my coat on must have made you feel very good, no?" His voice could have sweetened honey. "Though, I could make you feel even better with it off."

Carina tilted her chin up.

"That's – very forward of you," to the best of her ability, Carina shifted out of the reach of his fingers, projecting a cool and unaffected air. "But I think I prefer to keep things as they are."

"Want to know where I am keeping your chronometer?" he asked.

"Only," she ground out, "If that information is freely given."

"Of course," he turned his gaze forward, as though measuring the drop of the sails, but his fingers brushed against her leg again. "I can freely tell you where it is. I have it on my person." He leaned a little forward, brushing against her as he did, pretending to look at his men on the lower deck. "But the retrieval of it, will not be… quite so free."

She swallowed, knowing she was walking a thin line, and said, softly enough for only him to hear, "Do you think you're the first man to do this? You think you're the first to withhold something I need, in exchange for... a favor? A touch? Just a 'moment of my time'?" Bitterness welled up in her, "I don't need that instrument to make my own way, Capitán Salazar. I know enough not to be sailing blind!"

Resolutely, she kept both hands on the wheel and turned her eyes to the sky, trying to make out any of the stars in the bright blue. They'd be brighter at night, but sometimes, not often, she could see enough during the day to tell constellations apart.

Salazar tilted his head slightly, watching out of the corner of his eye as she stubbornly stared up at the fading constellations in the morning sky.

So wilful.

So infuriating.

He traced the line of her chin, the delicate complexion of her throat. He'd left a mark there, just under her ear; a red shape that he selfishly hoped would darken to a bruise. He had a sudden desire to let the boy see it, watch the boy's pain as he looked upon Carina, so clearly marked now as _his_ , Capitán Salazar's. Her face was paler this morning, purplish marks under her eyes betraying her lack of sleep, tangled hair betraying the passion of their night. To him, she looked lovely.

"Carina," he took one of her hands from the wheel in his, and curved his thumb over her palm.

She flicked her eyes to his face, surprised at his touch. The cool silver of the chronometer weighed in her hand as he closed her fingers over it.

"I would never let you sail blind," he said softly.

He suppressed a smile as her blue eyes widened in confusion, and he knew she'd been expecting rage, cruelty – any number of things – but not this. Not that he didn't have plans for her to pay for her audacity in taking his coat. But it could wait. There would be time enough for what he had in mind later.

Staring at the chronometer, Carina immediately felt conflicted. This wasn't free. It couldn't be free. Nothing, in her world, was ever given to her freely. Sooner or later, he was going to ask something for it.

"Take it back," she said.

When he made no move to reach for it, she pulled his hand toward her violently and slapped the chronometer back in it.

"Take it back," she hissed, "I know you'll use this, later, somehow, as a bargaining chip, and I won't let you. And, for your information, I'm never sailing blind."

She pointed up, and there, flickering weakly in the daylight, there was the faint outline of the constellation she needed to follow.

"The stars are all I've ever had, and I'll follow them where they tell me to go," she said.

Salazar scowled.

"It is your chronometer!" he snapped. "Why do you refuse my generosity?"

"I don't trust your generosity!" She retorted.

"You have lived too long in charge of your own life, Carina, and I would usually commend your independence – but now it verges on petulance!" He tilted his head, and his eyes became cruel. "The kind of petulance you'd see in a little girl!"

Carina whipped around, pressing her back into the wheel and glaring at him, "Remember the last time I was in this position, Capitán?"

Salazar's eyes widened.

"Do you dare to touch me now, as you did before?" Her eyes flamed. "You touched a _woman_ , Capitán! And you had no compunction about treating me like one!"

Salazar was torn between wrath and arousal. That Carina had the temerity to do this, to be so _bold_ , no matter that she'd received the curse like him or not – for her to say this, where she could be overheard…

She tilted her hips against his. "Well? _Am_ I a woman, or not?"

He wanted so much to pull away, to snarl at her, to punish her for such a breach of etiquette in front of his officers, but the memory of that first kiss they'd shared, here at the wheel...

The way her soft lips had parted for him, the hot touch of her tongue in his mouth…

She felt him hardening against her, and a gleam of amber shot through her satisfied gaze.

"I thought so," she said softly, before turning around to the wheel, ignoring him.

Rage burst into flames inside him. Salazar started to growl, started to raise his sword, when he was interrupted.

"Capitán," Moss was there, holding Lesaro's eye-glass and clearing his throat unnecessarily.

"¿Qué es lo que quiere, Moss?" Salazar bit out.

"Capitán, we must inform you that there is a ship ahead of us." He kept his eyes cast down at his feet, avoiding the Señorita and her legs.

Salazar took the opportunity Moss provided to recover himself.

Carina was driving him speechless, she was insubordinate, she was aggravating, and he was absolutely aching to have her. Even in front of his men, he wanted to take her, she drove him that mad.

"¡Ella quiere volverme loco!" He muttered under his breath.

He closed his eyes, gathering all the shreds of self-control he had together, before looking through the eye-glass Moss held up for him.

Overhearing the muttered Spanish, Carina turned her head, her eyes raking down Salazar's body as he stood there, and raised one foot to itch the opposite calf. She sniffed and turned her head back to her course, scowling. She hated the fire that lit low in her belly, just from being so close to him. She hated the way the darkness inside continued to curl seductively around her, especially when he was close. She hated knowing that he was going to take the first opportunity, as soon as they were alone, to rip his coat off her back.

But maybe, he liked her in it.

Maybe he liked that she was wearing it, bare legs and all.

Maybe he would leave it on, and just slip his hands up her thighs and...

Carina bit the inside of her cheek, hating the blush on her face and the tingle between her legs, forcing herself to concentrate on the faint stars and trying to do the calculations mentally. She had to stop thinking about him.

Salazar studied the sails of the distant ship through the glass.

"British," he growled.

Lesaro became even more attentive, stepping forward. Salazar had a particular hatred for the British, his frustrations at their constant political and naval interference from the time when he was a young Capitán was still fresh, even after all these years.

As he gestured Moss to take the eye-glass away, Salazar eyed Carina's stiff posture at the wheel, considering all the options the British ship presented.

The hem of his coat brushed against the back of her knees, and he saw her rub her thighs together, thinking no one would notice...

A smile curved his black lips once more. They had time. And he had an idea.

"Change course," he commanded. "Officer Magda, stand with Señorita Smyth as officer of the watch. She may continue to navigate, until we rid ourselves of this British interference!"  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> ¡Un barco! – A ship 
> 
> ¡Diez millas fuera! – Ten miles away 
> 
> ¡Mierde! He visto putas vestir más – F**k! I've seen whores wear more
> 
> ¡Cállese! – Shut up 
> 
> ¿Qué es lo que quiere, Moss – What do you want, Moss?
> 
> Ella quiere volverme loco – She wants to drive me crazy


	11. Of Curses and Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carina's Curse starts to sink deeper, producing moments of a shift in personality that surprises even Salazar...

"I _beg_ your pardon!" Carina had _just_ finished all of her mental calculations, based on the faint stars above them, and now to be changing course just because Salazar fancied it was beyond irritating. 

"Sí, Señorita?"

There was no mistaking his menace, but she refused to be cowed.

"Capitán Salazar –" she began sternly. "If we don't make good time, Barbossa will –"

Officer Magda shot her a discreet but unmistakable look of caution. And, at the same time, she felt a sharp _twinge_ inside her. Surprised, she stopped speaking. Magda's face was once more smoothly impassive, but she'd felt it. A twinge of foreign emotion: a short, sharp warning, passing between the Officer and herself.

It was similar to the exchange that had happened between herself and the Lieutenant: a curious connection, that she felt certain was to do with the curse they were afflicted with. Something about this curse they shared was making it possible for her to have this strange, wordless communication with them. And in spite of her natural inclination to want to argue with the Capitán, the warning from Magda had been clear; so she decided, for once, to go against her inclinations.

"What –" she dragged her eyes away from Salazar's, "What is our new course, Officer?"

Magda quickly instructed her on the turn required for their new course. She complied, listening closely, her mind still speculating on the implications of being able to communicate silently with the crew of the Silent Mary.

"Capitán," Lieutenant Lesaro's quiet voice addressed Salazar behind them. "May I speak with you now."

Another frisson of anxiety, just like before, rippled through Carina at the request.

"In private," Lesaro added.

"Sí, of course," Salazar was all congeniality, doubtless pleased with Carina's submission to his change of course. He gestured for Lesaro to step to one side of the quarterdeck with him.

Carina strained to hear, but it was no good. Even if the Lieutenant had been speaking in English, there was still too much distance between them, and too much ambient noise from the wind and the waves, for her to distinguish more than a murmur.

"Discretion," Magda advised quietly at her side.

"I'm sorry?" Carina blinked, startled.

"While it is natural to wish to hear what they are saying, Señorita, try not to _look_ like you are listening." The corner of his mouth tugged up in a slight smile. "Besides. It is far easier, if you simply try to feel it."

"Feel it?" She glanced at him, "What do you mean?"

He slid a sorrowful gaze in her direction, but was careful not to draw attention by turning his head too much.

"Believe me, we would have preferred you not to share in our curse," his voice was low, "But now that you do, you might as well learn how to use it."

Behind them, the Lieutenant continued talking quietly with his Capitán.

"How do I – feel it?" Carina asked.

"Just close your eyes. I will watch your steering."

Carina did.

"And now, just focus on the Lieutenant."

"Not Capitán Salazar –?"

"No!" He said quickly. "Don't – not the Capitán!"

"Why not?" She re-opened her eyes, curious.

"It isn't – good. He is too – the curse is different with him. Just concentrate on the Lieutenant."

Carina closed her eyes again.

At first she felt a little stupid.

All she could hear was the constant breeze thrumming through the sails, the continuous tumult of the crashing waves.

An irritation built inside her, an annoyance, that was swiftly doused with restraint. She took a deep breath in, trying to calm herself. And then it built again. The same irritation, struggling against a disciplined restraint. It took Carina another minute before she realised.

This wasn't her irritation. Nor was it her restraint.

It was Lieutenant Lesaro's.

She concentrated on the thread of feelings, pulling herself along to the source of them… and then gasped as a flood of loud Spanish abruptly entered her mind.

Carina was barely aware of Magda's whispered, "Steady, Señorita, steady."

To her utter shock, the Spanish dissolved, reformed, and became words she could understand…

_"You have a significant interest in her -" It was Salazar. "- perhaps, more interest than your rank and station permits?"_

_Frustration._

_"Armando, for once will you put aside rank! What have you done to her?"_

_"What have I done to her?" A mocking chuckle. "I had no idea you were so innocent, Gui... did no one ever instruct you, on what happens between a man and a woman?"_

_Rising violence._

_"Capitán, you once swore you would never allow anyone else to suffer this curse we have," Lesaro's enraged bitterness was overwhelming. "You said it in the very first days of our curse! You said it was because there was only One who deserved to be cursed! And now, you have done - this! And to Señorita Smyth!"_

_"Ah, my Gui, always so good, always so honourable –"_

_"Was this your plan for her? To punish her with the same curse we have, instead of Sparrow?" Horror, guilt. "And don't try and tell me she's not cursed! Her skin is pale. Her lips are dark. Her eyes change colour with her emotions. You have put the curse on her too!"_

_"Ah, so you can see it, can you? And why, Lieutenant, are you spending so much time looking at Señorita Smyth?"_

_Anguish._

_"Why would you do it? Did you even know what you were doing, when you –"_

_"Lieutenant Lesaro, you are treading dangerously close –"_

_"Stop the bullshit Mando!" Lesaro suddenly snarled. "Speak with me now, man to man, and tell me: did you know that fucking her would curse her?"_

Carina's eyes flew open.

Behind her, the low conversation in Spanish between the Capitán and the Lieutenant had risen sharply in volume, and Salazar hissed, "You are in breach of your station, addressing me like that!"

"Do you even know what it was like?" Lesaro shouting now, his Spanish cracking with his emotions. "To hear that Lady cry out in pain? To hear her begging you to _stop_?"

Around them the Officers on the quarterdeck became like stone, but no one dared turn to look at the heated Lieutenant. A passive blanket agreement had fallen on the Silent Mary crew, to pretend that they could not hear him.

Salazar laughed, and retorted in his mother tongue, "Oh, amigo, I assure you, she was crying out, but not in pain!"

Carina couldn't help it. She had to glance back. She had to. Salazar caught her eye, and smirked cruelly, and she looked away, frightened that he might have realised she could actually understand him even when he spoke in Spanish; Lesaro's anger grew even fiercer.

Salazar leant in towards Lesaro, still speaking in Spanish, "And she begged, sí, but it was not to _stop_ , of that you may be certain!"

A deep anger, tinged with old pain and buried hurt, washed over her: an intangible memory of a keen loss. Lieutenant Lesaro had lost someone. A long time ago, but the pain was fuelling his anger at the Capitán. Lesaro's anger was threatening to become something more, it teetered on the precipice of a cliff...

But then he turned and strode away abruptly, down the steps to the main deck.

Capitán Salazar watched him go with an unreadable face.

Carina felt Lesaro as he passed, felt the echo of a deeply buried memory he was holding onto that was much, much older than her. She tried to close her eyes again, tried to concentrate on pulling away, tried to unravel the tangled thread of feelings she'd got caught up in, but it only made it worse: drowning her mind with Lesaro's bright scarlet anger, unfolding out of a barren despair.

She opened her eyes and watched him striding down the deck. It took several minutes for the sensations to finally start to fade.

Carina shuddered, and whispered to Magda. "Is it... is it always like this? Feeling one another's ... moods?"

"Sí," Magda was stiff, obviously fighting the intense feelings himself. "When we focus, we can feel one another's thoughts, their memories, their emotions."

"Good Lord," Carina said faintly. "Do you – feel this – all the time?"

Magda nodded.

"All of you?" Carina whispered. "I mean you all feel _everyone's_ feelings – all at once?"

"Some of us feel it more, and more keenly, than others," Magda's jaw seemed to be ticking with effort, and Carina wondered if it was harder for him because he had been cursed for longer than she had. "We have had to learn to shut off from eachother, though it's not possible to prevent some feelings coming through."

Soft footsteps approached from behind, and both of them ceased speaking, sensing Capitán Salazar's attention on them.

"Capitán," Moss was there, suddenly intervening. "What are your orders regarding the prisoners?"

"The prisoners?"Capitán Salazar halted. "Ah, sí. Sparrow, and the boy..."

Carina could have sworn the skin on the back of her neck was burning, as if Salazar's intense gaze was on her again.

"Officer Santos and I were wondering if we should – if we should move the prisoners?" Moss asked.

"What?" Carina twisted around immediately to face them.

"Señorita Smyth," Magda murmured gently, "Por favor, but you must give full attention."

But Carina couldn't.

"Why would you need to move Jack and Henry?" She demanded.

Salazar pretended be surprised at her query. "¿Perdon?"

The wheel chose that very second to fight Carina, and she had to spread her legs farther apart to keep it in her grip, Salazar's coat lifting higher again as she did.

Officer Moss stared in silent awe at the sight of Carina's legs again.

"You heard me!" She snapped at Salazar, trying to brace herself against the wheel to stop it from moving.

Capitán Salazar shook his head, but instead of answering he merely turned back to Moss, who hurriedly stopped looking at Carina.

"We were only wondering, Capitán," Moss was nervous, "Because we did not know where else they could be held..."

"I am sure the prisoners can stay where they are," Salazar said, loud enough for Carina to hear.

"But," Moss was slow to catch on to Salazar's veiled mood. "If they aren't moved from the hold... then ... they will be harmed when we attack the British ship..."

"Will they?" Salazar's eyes glinted dangerously.

"Forgive me, Capitán," Moss stole another glance at Carina, valiantly managing to keep his eyeline above her shoulders. "But didn't the Señorita say we could not harm them?"

"What?" Carina's voice was sharp. "Isn't the hold the safest place?"

"Ah, por supuesto, of course," Salazar made a show of 'realising'. "The Señorita has never seen La María Silenciosa in battle..."

Carina let go of the wheel entirely and stepped towards him.

"Tell me what's going on, right now!" She crossed her arms. "Because if you're planning on letting them be in harm's way, then that's the same as hurting them yourself, and then you are not fulfilling your part of our agreement."

Magda stifled a sigh and took hold of the wheel.

"Our agreement?" Salazar looked as though he were genuinely curious. "What, Señorita, was our agreement?"

"That you wouldn't harm them."

Salazar tilted his head. "And?"

Carina swallowed, and felt again that sharp twinge inside, another clear warning from Magda.

"I would – I would navigate you to the Trident."

Salazar shook his head.

"No, no, no, Señorita Smyth, there was more."

Carina frowned.

"You said you would pay," Salazar pretended to be thinking out loud, "Whatever price I named. Were those not your exact words, Carina?"

"Yes, I said that. And I did." She lifted her chin. "I did pay."

"Did you." Salazar smiled.

"Yes..." Carina suddenly did not like where the conversation was heading.

"Did you really pay for all their guilt?" Salazar asked.

"I did."

Salazar moved closer. "Tell me Carina, what 'payment' could possibly atone for the deeds of a mass murderer?"

Carina's lips parted. "What?"

"Did you think last night was the only payment I would demand?"

Carina suddenly felt like her legs were going to buckle. "You - you wouldn't..."

"Officer Moss," Salazar smiled genially, turning abruptly to him, "Tell the Señorita what happens when La María Silenciosa attacks."

Unused to being put in such a position, Moss stuttered, "S-señorita... La María... when she attacks, she – expands. All the decking, the hull, the cannons – spread apart, and she – crashes down on our enemy."

Carina blinked. This was not what she'd expected.

Moss' eyes pleadingly sought out Magda, who had hardly shifted from the wheel or turned his head - and yet Carina was certain something must've passed between them, for Moss seemed to relax after a second, and give a small nod, before meeting Carina's eyes again.

"So if the prisoners are not moved to the quarterdeck," Moss continued, "The hold is the worst place for them to be... because they would be crushed by La María's fall onto the enemy ship."

"Then bring them here," Carina blurted, fear colouring her tone. "Please, you can't leave them there!"

"¿Discúlpeme?" Salazar looked at Carina. "Are you ordering me?"

She froze, all of her muscles tense, entirely too aware of her situation.

She closed her eyes. "Please."

"Leave us," Salazar ordered Moss and Magda.

Both Officers hurriedly stepped back, unwilling to argue about ship etiquette when his tone was so razor-sharp, and moved themselves to the very edge of the quarterdeck.

Carina however didn't step back. She couldn't.

Salazar had slid an arm around her waist, his fingers digging hard into her side.

"You would order me to move the prisoners." His tone was low and fierce. "Wearing my coat to cover your modesty does not make you the Capitán!"

"Then what _does_ it make me?" She hissed, suddenly deeply offended. "What _would_ you have me wear, then, since _you_ ripped my shift in _half_? Should I remove it completely?"

Her hands flew to the buttons of his coat, pulling them out of their holes, as she stared him in the eye.

Salazar's mouth parted, his breathing harsh; he was torn between seeing how far she'd actually go, and tossing her back into his sleeping quarters and barring the door indefinitely.

"If you don't bring them to the safest part of the ship, our deal is off, and I will _not_ navigate." Her hands were on the fourth button, her cleavage already visible, eyes flaring from blue to amber, determined not to stop.

Salazar snarled and covered the nimble movements of her fingers with his fist, squeezing tight to stop her unfastening any more buttons.

"I will _not_ bring them here!" he hissed. "So hear me now, Carina, and then after you may strip as naked as you please! You said those two wretches were not to be harmed by either my men or myself, and I have kept that promise, as much as I have _itched_ to run my sword along their throats and make you _watch_ while I do!"

The dark whipped between them, whispering of what else they could do, dripping in blood-covered lust, kissing and biting and devouring atop cooling corpses...

Carina shuddered and tried to jerk her hand back.

"But this – if they are harmed – it is _not_ my doing!" Salazar's shoulders were shaking under the influence of the curse's temptations, "They were fool enough to trespass aboard _my_ ship, and I will _not_ make any promises! If La María harms them, she harms them!"

She growled and bared her teeth at him. "You're putting them in _harm's way_ without an avenue for escape! How is that –"

"If you want them spared, then you must give _me_ something more!" He squeezed her hand harder, and she heard all of the delicate little bones creak under the pressure. "I promised not to harm them in exchange for your co-operation to navigate us to the Trident – but this! _This_ is more!"

He let go of her fist suddenly, letting her stumble back against the wheel.

"So you choose, Carina," his calm change of tone belied his red eyes, "You choose what you will pay for their safety. You choose, what 'punishment' you believe you can bear, for their continued miserable existence!"

Carina could not think. She'd given him everything. What else could she give?

"I gave you my virtue," she hissed, mortified.

"I want more than your 'virtue'!" He leant in. "I want _all_ of you."

"What _more_ of me could you possibly have? I've given you _all_ of me!"

Carina pursed her lips, and then, to Salazar's shock, something dark came over her, and her expression completely changed. Carina smiled and purred seductively, "Unless... you mean for me to share myself with your men..."

She angled her face slightly, letting him see her eyes slide towards where Moss and Magda stood at the railing.

His hand closed around her throat and his thumb firmly pushed her face to look up at him, as he all but bent her over backwards at the wheel.

"You are _mine_!" His eyes were bright lurid spots of red wavering in her vision. "You belong to _me_! From the weight of your soul to the measure of your heartbeat, you are _mine_ , Carina Smyth, and I _do not share_!"

She was gasping for breath, her breasts threatening to fall out of the gaping jacket, and she couldn't help the strong thrum of arousal that hit her like a heavy wave.

The dark swirled around them, whispering for them to do _more_ , _take_ more, _hurt_ more...

Salazar closed his eyes, and breathed out slowly. "If you really must save those pitiful idiots..."

He opened his eyes to gaze down at her, her parted lips, her pale face, her burning eyes; and involuntarily lowered his head almost as if to kiss her.

"You must promise to pay the price," he stopped short, his lips a breath from hers. "And there will be a price, Carina, but since you are so reluctant to name it, then it is a price I will name."

"I couldn't care less what you ask of me," her attempt to be haughty only succeeded in being breathy, "So long as they're safe."

He straightened.

"Then, Señorita Smyth, come with me. It is time we paid them a visit."  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish Translations:
> 
> ¿Discúlpeme? - Excuse me?


	12. Of Pride and Purchases

As Carina followed Capitán Salazar down below, the smell of algae and rotted wood grew stronger.

Jack and Henry were being held, it seemed, in the very worst place on the ship. Having made the brig unusable, the two had been placed on the lowest deck.

As she turned and descended the last set of steps into the dank depths of the Mary, Carina saw first the corner of a cage, and at the very bottom of the steps, she realised for the first time just how narrow and tight the hold they'd been imprisoned in was.

Both their arms were stretched overhead, chained to heavy oak beams above them.

The cage they were in was built of thick iron bars, closing in on all sides from floor to ceiling, and between them and imminent death by drowning were only damp, creaking boards.

Carina knew there would be no chance of either man escaping from here.

Greenish-blue light from the bright sunlit waters surrounding the ship slid through cracks in the timbers, granting an eerie relief to what would otherwise be pitch black darkness. Here and there the sea leaked in sporadically, as though the curse that animated the Silent Mary, that kept it afloat and gave it great speed despite its deteriorating state, was itself diaphanous.

At the sound of boots on the wooden steps, Henry had looked up, eyes sullen with anger.

When he saw it was Capitán Salazar, he grabbed at the chains above his head and shook them hard, as if hoping to break free and fling himself at the bars that separated Salazar from them. But the chains held firm.

"I'm going to kill you!" Henry promised, straining to get as close to the bars as the chains would allow. "I'm going to get out of here and I'm going to _kill you_!"

Unfazed by Henry's threats, Capitán Salazar looked over the sorry state of the two prisoners with satisfaction. "This is our oldest cell. The brig is a comfort by comparison. This is the place we used to put prisoners of war, while they waited to be executed."

"Just try it!" Henry spat.

Ignoring him, Salazar turned to Carina, who was still standing in the shadows behind him. "Of course, anyone we put here would never stay long."

Carina stepped slowly forward, looking over both Henry and Jack carefully in the greenish light, checking to see that they had not been whipped or hit, making sure Salazar had kept his promise.

Seeing Carina emerge from the shadows behind the Capitán, Henry sucked in a sharp breath, apparently completely shocked to even see her there. His stare took in Carina's state, from her pale face, to the fact that she was wearing Salazar's coat, to her bare legs... but Jack.

Jack did not look up.

"Jack?" Carina called softly.

He didn't respond.

"Jack, are you –"

Jack lifted dark eyes to meet Carina's.

Carina nearly took a step back.

There was a darkness in those eyes that had nothing to do with their colour.

"Jack…" she faltered. "Why are you – what's wrong?"

"Carina," Henry's voice was tight with anxiety. "What happened last night?"

Salazar chuckled softly, the narrow space making the sound reverberate strangely. "What do you mean, boy?"

Henry's tensing jaw was the only sign that he'd heard the Capitán as he kept his gaze trained on Carina, a strange look of despair mixed with pleading there.

But it was Jack who spoke first, saying simply, "We heard yer, love."

Carina swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, as her eyes flicked between Jack and Henry.

The silence stretched out painfully between them.

Like an idiot, she'd completely forgotten that they would have heard her last night. Of course they had! And yet, she'd been too angry at Salazar just now, too confused by her own conflicting desires, too eager to prove that she was not afraid to strike a bargain with him... and she'd forgotten.

If she _had_ spared any serious thought for Henry, or Jack for that matter, it'd just been a vague idea that no matter what, she could face them.

She'd known there might be some awkwardness, but she had determined to sail over it.

She had, after all, made the choice on their behalf. Had put herself in their place.

She couldn't help – nor could she have ever predicted, even in her wildest dreams – what had occurred between her and the Capitán.

No, if she'd even thought about it once, it had just been that it would be easy to be strong in front of Jack and Henry. She'd thought she wouldn't be ashamed.

But thinking so, and then doing so, were two entirely different matters.

"Aye," Jack suddenly said, breaking her train of thought. "We heard _everythin_ ', love."

Carina tried again to formulate an answer, but there was nothing she could say.

Salazar laughed, long and low. "Now, now, Sparrow, you no longer have to just hear, eh? You can see for yourselves," a vicious note entered his voice, "And express your thanks that she took your place!"

Carina shot Salazar a swift frown, before turning to address them and, in as collected a tone as she could muster, said: "The Capitán has allowed me to come down here, because –"

"Oh, come to see us, did yer?" Jack's voice was like nothing she'd ever heard from him before. "Thought yer might've been havin' too much fun up there to be thinkin' of us! Not that I can blame yer, what with yer been a _horologist_ and all…"

"Jack Sparrow," Salazar's face grew cold, "Do not think that because she is paying the price for each worthless breath you take, that my patience is infinite."

"Don't," Henry warned Jack as he started to grin madly. "Please, Jack, don't! For Carina's sake, _don't_!"

"Would've been better if you hadn't come down here, love," Sparrow told Carina, "Have some pride. If yer got any left, that is."

Carina opened her mouth to give an angry retort, but Salazar beat her to it.

"Is that how you thank a Lady? After she saved you from punishment?" Salazar shook his head in mock disappointment, before turning to Carina. "And didn't you say that these two were once gracious enough to save your life? And yet, they are so graceless now... it makes me wonder what their reasons for saving you were in the first place..."

"I don't care what their reasons were –" Carina started.

"Don't you?" Salazar let his gaze drop, lingering on her legs. "Perhaps that is because you cannot imagine their reasons..."

"She was about to be executed!" Henry said loudly, offended at Salazar's insinuation. "They were going to hang her for a witch!"

Salazar's eyebrows flew up.

"A witch, eh?" He cast a meaningful look at Carina. "And are you?"

"You know very well I'm not!" Carina snapped.

"But you do have a bewitching way about you, Señorita – perhaps I would have done better to question the boy about you first, hmm? He could have told me I had a powerful witch onboard –"

"If there's anyone supernaturally powerful here," she said hotly, "It's you!"

"Gracias," Salazar purred. "I'm flattered you think I am powerful."

Scowling, Henry interrupted, "Carina found me – because I needed to find the Trident! And she told me the journal would help us find it!"

"Ah, so you saved the Lady purely for selfish reasons? For her journal?" Turning his attention back to Henry, Salazar shook his head. "And yet yesterday, she offers herself unselfishly, to take the punishment you should've taken, with no assurance of any personal benefit –"

Jack started to chuckle, but there was an edge to it. "Sounded to us like she got a fair lot of benefit out of it!"

Carina blushed and looked angry.

Salazar tilted his head. "And would you have been as amenable, if I had subjected you to the same punishment, Sparrow, as her?"

Jack eyed Salazar, a smirk on his face. "But Spanish, yer never asked."

Salazar ignored Jack's smirk, continuing, "She has agreed to keep paying the price for your life. For both your lives."

Sparrow's smirk became a twisted sneer. "What makes you think we want our lives?"

Drawn by the subtle change in the pirate, Salazar passed through the iron bars easily, to stand in front of him. "Jack the Sparrow... wants death?"

"Wouldn't be the first time I been dead, mate."

"But what makes you think I want you dead?"

"Well, innit this what it's all about?" Jack marshalled up a half-grin, "I mean, I did destroy your entire life, didn't I? Killed _you_ , killed yer crew, sank this pile of sh–"

"Are you trying to provoke me again, Sparrow?" Salazar asked coolly.

Jack's eyes flashed. "I dunno. Is it working?"

Salazar's black lips pulled back in a grin he seemed to save for Jack alone. "Perhaps, I might have wanted your death before, Sparrow… but now, I am convinced there are better ways to have my revenge."

He stepped back, turning to face Henry.

"And you, boy. How do you like your new quarters?" He chuckled. "Very comfortable, no?"

Henry scowled at Salazar. "I thought you might have had some decency in you. You don't. You're a monster."

"Am I?" Salazar could not have been more amused. "The Señorita does not think so."

"Yes," Henry hissed. "You're nothing but a _monster_! You aren't fit to even look at Carina, I don't know how you can even bear to live with yourself –"

"Oh," he clicked his tongue in disapprobation. "Such judgement! And in one so young." Salazar cast Carina a sly glance, before adding for Henry's benefit, "Had you been older, perhaps, Señorita Smyth would not have been so quick to offer herself to me in your place. But she has grown to crave my company, and even this morning –"

Henry spat at him, making Salazar laugh.

"Enough!" Carina glared, her blue eyes starting to glow. "You promised you would place them on the quarterdeck, so enough! Tell me what you want in exchange for their safety?"

But Salazar hadn't finished, enjoying Henry's wide, furious eyes bouncing between him and Carina.

"I would apologise, hombre, truly, I know it must hurt." He mocked. "Your desire for her shines like a beacon, but a woman like her needs a firm rein, eh?"

"What?" Carina's voice could have cut diamonds. " _What_ did you just say?"

"She needs a man who has the strength to keep her in hand," Salazar carried on blithely, "A man who is not afraid of her intelligence, who has the necessary skills and experience to know just how to please her –"

" _Capitán Salazar_!" Carina's eyes were distinctly amber-coloured, flaring brightly in the gloomy space.

"Carina…" Henry stared. "Your eyes…"

Salazar was triumphant. "Sí, Carina…your _eyes_ …"

Carina faltered, realising Salazar had deliberately been baiting her – and she'd fallen for it.

"Your eyes betray you, mi amor." Salazar purred. "How… unfortunate."

"You've poisoned her!" Henry burst out.

Salazar turned an amused look at Henry. "Poisoned?"

"I can see it!" Henry said. "You've poisoned her, infected her with the same curse you and your men have!"

Carina looked away, guilty. This was not something she'd wanted them to know.

"Oh?" Salazar was interested. "Do share your wisdom, boy. How are you so sure it was me?"

Henry was distraught. "You bastard, her eyes are like yours!"

"Stop!" Carina had had enough. "Just stop it!"

"Stop? Stop what?" Salazar sneered, suddenly whirling back through the bars to stand in front of her.

Carina's eyes flared amber. "I know what you're trying to do, but I refuse to be humiliated!"

"You humiliate yourself," his hand closed hard over her wrist, as he jerked her to himself, "When you refuse to tell the truth about us!"

"I'm sorry, Carina! I'm so sorry!" Henry shook and strained uselessly at the chains that were holding him, the pain of his efforts showing on his face. "If I knew what he was going to do – if I'd known he was going to force it on you – I'm so sorry!"

"Yer wrong, mate," Jack had not stopped staring at Carina since her eyes had lit in the angry outburst. "If she's cursed… it's not because he's forced it on her. It's cos she wanted it. She wants _him_."

Salazar smiled cruelly, his grip tightening on Carina. "For once, a pirate actually speaks the truth."

"No," Henry shook his head frantically. "It's not true. Swear it, Carina! Tell me he's wrong!"

Henry was so earnest, his face so pleading, that Carina almost wished she could.

"I'm sorry, Henry." Carina dropped her eyes to the hard fingers encircling her pale wrist. "But the curse – it's…"

She could feel it, the Dark already curling around where Salazar had hold of her, pleased at their contact.

"It's not what you think," Carina whispered, and the Dark caressed through her at her words.

Henry's mouth dropped open, but she wasn't looking at him.

Salazar had loosened his grip, almost bowing his head to touch hers, as though the Dark soothed him too.

Carina closed her eyes, shuddering at the caress of the Dark from their shared curse become a plaintive need, begging them both to let it be fed...

 _Want..._ it whispered. _Take_...

And Carina shuddered again at the images swamping her mind, of blood and fire and death...

...until the sound of the waves against the side of the Mary brought her back to reality.

A reality where there were two lives in the hold that, no matter how averse to her or what she had done, still depended on her.

"But – none of that matters right now," Carina reluctantly pulled her wrist out of Salazar's hold, ignoring the soft growl from him as she did, and turned to Henry. "I'm here to negotiate you both being placed on the Quarterdeck. There's a battle coming, and –"

"No!" Henry shouted suddenly. "It's a lie!"

Carina was startled. "Henry – "

"It's a lie! You can't – you can't possibly – not with _him_!"

Salazar closed his fingers over Carina's jaw, pulled her hair away, and bared her neck to Henry.

"Look!" he growled in a low voice. "See the mark on her neck! I made that mark on her!"

Carina couldn't help a shiver of dark arousal as he stroked over it, the memory of the night they'd had invading her senses at his touch and his rumbled words.

Salazar became lascivious, "And even more marks in places you will never see! She belongs to me, _boy_ , in ways you can't even imagine!"

At once, a slurry of curses left Henry, as he called Salazar every name he could think of.

Carina turned her head gently out of Salazar's grasp, the heat of her desire and the way the Dark had wrapped around them both, still making her dizzy.

"Still want to save them, Carina?" Salazar whispered in her ear, under the cover of Henry's shouted curses.

"Yes." Carina murmured, staring at his black lips.

"Still willing to purchase their pathetic lives?" He bent his head closer.

She could almost taste him again, she _wanted_ to taste him again. "I'm not afraid."

He let her feel his cool breath on her face. "Always so strong..."

She lifted her eyes up to his. "Name your price."

Salazar glanced once more at Henry, who'd finally stopped, eyes bright and breathless from the stream of swear-words he'd just spewed out at him.

"Then show them," Salazar told her. "Show them the truth."

Carina turned fully to face him.

"Show them the truth about us..." he whispered.

She knew what he wanted. What she had to do.

And none of Henry's or Jack's judgement mattered. None of it could matter. So long as they lived, there was nothing she would not consider doing. She would not have their blood on her hands.

Carina reached a hand up, cupping Salazar's face, her fingers stroking the edges of his burnt skull.

He was absolutely still, not making a move to touch her.

She took a step in, and still he kept his arms at his sides.

She knew then the point he was making, for the benefit of their audience, was that she was willing. He wanted it to be all her.

Rising up on her toes, she pressed her lips to his.

She heard Henry's gasp from the cell, but squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to pay no attention to anything else but what she was doing.

He did not part his lips. He didn't respond at all, unlike the other times.

Frustrated, needing to taste him, she turned her head a little to the side, her tongue sliding along the seam of his lips, coaxing him to open for her.

She remembered how he'd stood, naked, in front of her barely hours before, and teased her hands up his chest, through his floating hair, before clasping them around the back of his neck.

And still, he did not move a muscle in response.

She was almost ready to stop and give up, when he parted his mouth just a little.

It was only a little, but for her it was enough.

With a muffled sigh of relief, Carina slid her tongue shamelessly between his lips. She let her tongue freely explore his mouth once again, inviting him to taste her back; whimpering when he probed inside her mouth, moaning when he flicked his cool tongue against hers in the exact same rhythm he'd used between her thighs, during the dark hours of the night...

Her need to breathe alone parted their lips.

She pulled back, a steady fire of gold, amber and red lighting his eyes. She was still breathing hard, heaving deep breaths in as though she'd just swum a mile, and her hands were still clasped about his neck.

Somehow, her leg had entwined up around his without her even knowing, and the coat had ridden so far up her thighs – Carina straightened, a tinge of pink dusting her cheeks, and stepped back.

She couldn't help a small glance at the other two in the hold. Henry was red-faced, chin determinedly tipped down towards the floorboards, while Jack looked on, both incredulous and faintly interested.

"Gracias, Carina," Salazar breathed, and Carina looked back at him once more. "You have bought them one more day of existence."

No one else spoke.

Salazar looked entirely too pleased not to have orchestrated this whole thing... but she found she didn't care.

His stained lips were swollen from her kiss and she knew there'd be a matching stain around her own tender mouth. She reached up to touch her lips, fingertips tracing the slick wetness of his blackened blood on her mouth.

The moment crystallised in silence.

And something changed permanently in Carina.

Whoever she used to be was gone. She knew that now.

The old Carina would never, _never_ have kissed like that.

To be honest, the old Carina had never kissed anyone at all.

But there was no point having regrets now.

The sense of heavy finality her realisation brought was matched with an increasingly buoyant sense of freedom.

She didn't know who she was now, or who she was changing to be, but the knowledge that she was changing only excited her.

_The old Carina didn't exist anymore._

It was liberating.

She wavered on her feet, almost stumbling from the force of the surprising revelation, and it was only her grasp around one of the heavy iron bars imprisoning Henry and Jack that kept her from slipping on the rotting floorboards.

An elated smile slid over Salazar's face, and he opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he had been about to say was interrupted by Jack Sparrow.

"If a kiss like that," he purred, staring openly at Carina's legs, "Gets us one more day of life, then what did last night purchase...?"

"Shut up, Jack!" Henry's voice was hoarse.

Sparrow shot Carina a smirk that might have been seductive, if it had been anyone else. "An' who else might you be willin' to purchase favours from, love? You do it so well... if I'd known you were so talented back when we first met –"

"Everything I've done since been dragged aboard this ship has been to save you!" Carina's eyes blazed – but not amber this time. They were a virulent maroon, and her dark lips drew back in a cruel and cold sneer. "So the day you don't feel like living anymore, Jack, _do_ let me know."

Jack actually looked afraid at the change in her, and she drank it in, the Dark whispering cruel words to her about the pathetic pirate, making her heady with unanticipated knowledge.

She stepped towards the bars, her snarl sliding into a seductive twist of a smile, that mirrored his own previous attempt in mockery.

"Because I don't think," she whispered confidingly, "That you're as careless of your own life as you want everyone else to believe..."

Jack didn't respond, his expression transforming into an icier one than she had ever seen on his face, as if his entire clownish act since she'd met him had only ever been an act, and this iciness was the real Jack – the one that he kept hidden.

She tilted her head at him, maroon eyes glowing in satisfaction. "It's so nice, when we lose our masks, isn't it?"

A hand drifted down her back, and she leaned willingly back against Salazar as he pressed up behind her, wrapping his arms possessively about her waist. She closed her eyes briefly in bliss at his proximity.

"Carina..." Henry was utterly heartbroken. "What's happening to you...?"

She opened her eyes to look at him.

Considered his question.

"I suppose... I've just come to terms with things, Henry."

Henry bit his lip, appalled and horrified.

"But don't worry." Carina said lightly. "You'll still be allowed to live. Both of you."

She turned her head towards Salazar, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek.

"You are very sure of yourself..." Salazar growled, his hands tightening possessively around her.

"Well, I did just purchase them. So I suppose, that means they're now officially mine."

"For one day," Salazar corrected.

"Which is probably just as well," Carina flashed an amused glance at Jack, at the same time that Salazar lifted his own fiery eyes in triumph at the prisoners. "Because if they were 'purchased' by you, I don't think they'd like it quite as much."  
  
  
  



	13. Of Shoes and Ships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Silent Mary chases The Essex

When Carina was the first to step out from below deck, with the ends of two chains in her fist, every one of the crew of the Silent Mary stopped to stare. Ignoring them all, she turned to tug Henry and Jack up behind her. The chains she held were fastened to the manacles around their wrists, and as she pulled on them, forcing them up onto the main deck, it was obvious to everyone that neither man was completely happy – but also, that Carina had somehow convinced Capitán Salazar to let her bring them up from the hold.

" _Do_ hurry up," Carina told Henry when he stubbornly trailed up the steps at a deliberately slow pace. "It's for your own good."

Jack smirked at the gaping Silent Mary crew. "Looks like they ain't used to your idea of fun, love," he said in a loud whisper.

"Shut up, Jack," Carina said lightly.

"I think it's the chains," Jack went on, "It's scarin' 'em. Might have t'take it slow when yer give 'em their turn, don't think they're gonna be as keen on the rough an' tumble as ol' _Capitán_ was –"

Carina jerked hard on Jack's chain, making him stumble forward.

"That's enough from you," she said, as though Jack were her pet and she the patient, long-suffering owner.

"Gentle, amor mío," came a low voice. "You must treat them gently, eh?" Capitán Salazar appeared on deck last of all, moving to Carina's side with an expression of satisfaction. "Or else I might have to take them off you."

Henry's scowl became deeper than ever at Salazar's words, but Carina only smiled.

"Not a chance, Capitán Salazar," her dimples peeped out irrepressibly. "Today, they're mine."

"I look forward to tomorrow then," he murmured.

Henry looked away in disgust.

Catching his expression, Carina sighed, before turning to survey the length of the ship. "You know better than I what the Mary is like in battle, Capitán. Is the quarterdeck really going to be the safest place for them?"

"I have never had to consider safety for a human before now." He frowned, concerned. "But you must be kept safe too, amor mío."

She looked up at him, the chains clinking as she lifted her hand to rest on his arm. "The curse will keep me safe."

He studied her, seeing in the sunlight the sure but steady effect of it overtaking her. "Perhaps... but I do not know. The curse took me after I died. But you… it seems to be different with you. It has taken you while you still live."

She shrugged.

"Perhaps you could at least consider a change of clothing," Salazar's sly gaze slid over his coat that she wore, before continuing with amusement down to her bare feet. "And shoes, Señorita?"

"Well, you have very nice boots, Capitán," she smiled brightly.

"Never," he said with humour. "I draw the line at my boots. But perhaps, you could take the boy's?"

"I'll be fine," she said decisively, before adding, "Besides, I find I'm very attached to your coat, Capitán. It would be a pity to ruin its effect with anything less than your boots, so until you agree to lend them to me, I think I'll go barefoot."

Salazar chuckled genuinely, a sound that made his men more silent than ever.

Carina lifted her hand away from his arm as she gestured in the direction of her prisoners. "But Jack and Henry really should be kept in the safest place."

"Then…" Salazar's expression turned thoughtful. "My quarters. There, they will be safe. Until it is over."

Carina shook her head. "Not there."

Salazar looked at her in surprise. "No?"

Carina felt her cheeks heat just a little. "Somewhere else, please."

Salazar's eyes flared with even more amusement, but he affected an innocent smile. "The thought of them so close to our bed bothers you?"

"No," she shook her head hurriedly. "It's not that."

He slid in close to her. "Then why do you object?"

Carina glanced sideways at Jack and Henry.

"Fine," She admitted quietly. "Because it _is_ our bed. It's ours. And – I want it to stay ours." She lifted her chin, trying to appear commanding but only succeeding in looking winsomely appealing. "Can't they just be chained to the quarterdeck?"

"They _could_ be chained to the mast on the quarterdeck," Salazar agreed. "But there is likely to be cannonfire. I cannot guarantee their safety if they are exposed. And… they will not be allowed weapons, Carina. They will not be able to shield or defend themselves."

"Cannonfire?" Carina's brow creased.

"And at closer range, the English will not hesitate to use their rifles." Salazar added.

Carina sighed. "Fine. Then your quarters it will have to be." She glanced up at him shyly. "I just – I suppose, I just wanted some things to be – private. Ours."

Salazar had been indulging, the entire walk up to the deck, in thoughts of making both Jack and Henry see the carnage of his bed, with its broken bedhead and messy sheets. He'd wanted to watch them draw even clearer conclusions as to the nature of his and Carina's lovemaking – and particularly, watch more of the boy's pain – but seeing Carina's reluctance, and her desire to keep their bed as something only for them, touched him. He suddenly realised how distasteful his cruelty was, and found himself feeling almost ashamed of it. Carina was right. His time with her should be private.

He tapped her cheek lightly with a finger. "They do not have to be near our bed," he said softly. "They can be secured in the main cabin. Would that be – agreeable to you?"

"Yes, please," she said, rewarding him with a smile at his touch; and Salazar felt himself, oddly enough, sincerely pleased. "So long as they remain alive…"

"Of course," he nodded.

Carina let Salazar lead the way up the steps to the quarterdeck.

As they went up the steps, Carina saw that in their absence, Lieutenant Lesaro had returned to assist Officer Magda at the helm. He neither met her eyes, nor acknowledged his Capitán's presence; and Magda only afforded Salazar a silent nod.

Capitán Salazar tilted his head at them, and though she knew he had not missed the breach in his Lieutenant's etiquette, in ignoring his own Capitán, yet Salazar did not seem particularly angry.

Salazar gave orders to Officers Moss and Cortez, who came and collected Jack and Henry from Carina's unresisting hands. For once, Cortez didn't look sourly at her, even nodding with something approaching respect as she passed him the chains. Perhaps it was the clear evidence of his Capitán's regard for the Señorita that had swayed him; perhaps the presence of the curse they shared, or perhaps both, but Cortez no longer seemed to object to Carina.

"I meant what I said before, Carina!" Henry urgently started to whisper to Carina as she'd unwrapped his chain from her hand. "I'm sorry for what's happened to you!" His voice grew more desperate as they started to lead him and Jack away, as if this might be the last time he saw her. "And I promise, I'll fix everything! I'll find a way to make everything alright again –"

"Enough," Salazar waved for them to be taken away. "The boy has said his peace already, no need for the refrain."

But Carina stood and watched as they were marched into the cabin, Henry looking back at her one last time before the door was slammed shut.

"They will be safe. Cortez and Moss will ensure they are firmly secured to the walls, and will not be hurt when La María moves," Salazar promised.

"I know. I trust you," she said quietly, but her forehead wrinkled in a frown.

Salazar studied her, before lowering his voice to ask, "Are you sure you do not wish to go with them, Carina? This fight – may not be safe for you. There is ample room in the cabin. You know you would not even have to speak with them if you did not wish it, you could simply shut the door to the main cabin and sit on the bed –"

"No," she shook her head, turning away. "No, I told you, the curse will keep me safe. I'll be fine."

In the short time since Salazar and Carina had left, the Silent Mary had completely braced around and begun bearing down in earnest on the other ship.

Once Moss and Cortez had re-emerged from the cabin, Magda had informed Capitán Salazar that they estimated they would catch up to the British ship within the hour.

Stepping forward to stand next to Lesaro, Carina saw the ship certainly was closer than it had been before she'd followed Salazar below deck to see Jack and Henry. She recognised the red crosses on its white sails, and the proudly flying Union Jack flag, identifying it clearly as British; very visible now without even having to use an eyeglass.

"They're trying to outrun us," Carina understood Magda's Spanish as clearly as if he'd spoken in English. "They know they can't win a fight, so they're trying to save themselves."

Briefly, Carina thought of the ship that had brought her to Saint Martin, and the cruel Captain who'd insisted on forcing everyone to watch him as he flogged his own man bloody. Her eyes, which had not ceased being maroon since leaving the hold, flared a brighter shade as she studied the British warship. It was a much bigger ship than the smaller frigate she'd made the voyage to Saint Martin in, a warship designed specifically to engage in heavy naval battle, and yet something about it seemed vaguely familiar.

"Do we know its name?"

"HMS Essex," was Lieutenant Lesaro's clipped response.

"Ah," she murmured. "Well, well, well."

She'd seen it at Saint Martin's not long after her arrival, its sails cresting high over most of the houses as it had docked. She'd always admired the clean lines and precise architecture of a warship; but this particular one had brought Lieutenant Scarfield with it, and had signalled the increase of woes in her short stay on the island.

She wondered if the good Lieutenant was on the ship now, and the thought made the Dark inside her flare with vicious pleasure. She hoped he was.

Though he did not spare her so much as a glance, Carina felt the sudden intrusion of Lesaro's emotions, swirling through the connection of their curse.

Distracted from thoughts of vengeance against Scarfield, Carina had to struggle to regain control of her mind against Lesaro's overwhelming worries, that poured out of him. He was distraught at the permanent change in Carina's eyes, worried about their deviation from course to engage in battle with the warship, deeply anxious about the bloodthirsty bent of Carina's current thoughts...

It horrified her to realise the complete lack of privacy she had, that the curse meant not even her mind was her own. There was no such thing as privacy anymore. She fought against the surge of emotions that were not hers, but it was like trying to push back a wave with her hands: impossible.

And more than anything, Lieutenant Lesaro was _angry_ – but it was not anger at her. It was anger at Salazar.

Behind her, Carina became aware that Salazar was now giving instructions to Cortez to prioritise staying on the quarterdeck, except in an emergency, and guard the cabin during the battle.

She focused on the low timbre of his voice, using it to anchor her mind back firmly into herself, forcing Lesaro's conflicting feelings out.

She listened as Salazar ordered Cortez to make sure neither prisoner suffered any injuries when the Silent Mary struck at the British.

Overhearing Salazar's order, Magda shot Carina an apprehensive look.

She returned his look with a lift of her chin, knowing he must be wondering exactly what had happened in the hold, to make Salazar suddenly so invested in keeping Sparrow especially from harm. She felt Magda brush the edge of her mind, and was sure he was going to send a question to her. But then he seemed to decide not to, and faced forward again.

"The Señorita is staying on the quarterdeck," was all she heard Magda say quietly to Lesaro.

Lesaro turned sharply to glare at Capitán Salazar, his anger boiling over, black and thick, swamping Carina's mind once more.

"It's my decision," Carina forced herself to step in rapidly, before Salazar could turn around.

Lesaro paused, turning his good eye on her.

Behind her, she heard Salazar dismissing Cortez, and hurried to repeat, "It's my decision. I want to stay."

"Are you sure, Señorita?" Lesaro asked her, his opinion clear from the way he pressed his lips together in a straight line. "You do not have to stay –"

"I'm sure," she said.

She felt his continued hesitation through the curse, his concern for her safety both gentle and genuine, and she sent back a firm reassurance to him: _I will be safe._

"Is everything alright, Lieutenant?" Salazar stepped to her side, watching Lesaro intently.

"Sí, Capitán." Lesaro nodded at Carina without even a glance at Salazar.

He turned away without another word to them, and swiftly commanded Moss to oversee the rigging of splinter netting over their heads.

Again, Salazar remained unperturbed at his Lieutenant's ignoring him.

Carina wasn't sure she wanted to be present when Salazar finally decided to address his Lieutenant's attitude; she was sure it would not end happily.

But, like Salazar, she could pretend in the meantime that there was nothing wrong.

At first, to allay her awkwardness over the hostility of Lieutenant Lesaro towards his Capitán, but then with gradually increasing interest, she watched as three of the Mary's deckhands brought an old net to the quarterdeck. They stretched it twelve feet above her head, one of them climbing up under the makeshift crow's nest at the top of the Mizzenmast to secure it there, while others stretched it down to the broken main mast on the deck below. Another net was stretched from just under the crow's nest to the railings on port and starboard sides, granting substantial protection from falling splinters.

"Your first time in a battle," Salazar murmured to Carina as the men tied off the splinter net.

"Yes," she nearly smiled at the way the Dark inside her sent a thrilling shiver up her spine.

Facing forward together, Carina and Salazar saw the Essex was cutting a brisk pace, all its sails angled forward, tied as close to the bow as possible; close-hauled to give it maximum lift over the rolling waves.

Over the next quarter-hour, as they gave chase, it became apparent that the Essex was trying to use its downwind position to an advantage. It sailed in a zig-zag pattern in an effort to quickly increase the distance between them; but while their tactical manoeuvres made no difference to the Mary, it did reveal something else.

In the far distance, in front of the Essex, there was _another_ ship.

"Segundo barco a sotavento," came the confirming cry from above.

Salazar smiled, and the Dark curled thicker and faster within Carina.

"Barbossa," he breathed, and around her Carina could feel a shadow-ripple of bloodlust and trepidation wash through the entire crew.

"Continue," Salazar commanded his men. "We'll destroy the British first, and then Barbossa!"

The Silent Mary did not need to mimic the Essex's manoeuvres to retain her position. Another fifteen minutes went by, judging by the shifting position of the sun, before Carina was close enough to distinguish the actual crew aboard the Essex. The distance between the two ships was growing steadily shorter and shorter. There was no question now: battle was imminent.

Barbossa's ship likewise became clearer, the closer they came.

Finally, the Essex slowed, shortening its topsails. Beyond the Essex, the Black Pearl continued sailing on, taking the opportunity to put themselves further out of reach of the Silent Mary.

Though the speed with which the Mary sailed, Carina doubted they would be out of reach for very long, and Salazar did not seem concerned in the slightest.

"Run, pirate, run," Salazar mocked softly, "You still won't get away!"

Distant splashes could be heard. Over the sides of the Essex, Carina saw round barrels were being frantically tossed into the sea.

"What are they doing?" She asked curiously.

"Discarding their surplus gunpowder." Salazar observed. "Hoping to preserve themselves from exploding or burning when we strike." Salazar shook his head. "Very clever. But it still won't save them from us."

The Essex smoothly turned broadside to the oncoming Spanish warship, flinging open its gunports and proudly unfurling a huge battle ensign, at almost the same time that it sent a cannonshot from a carronade on the uppermost deck.

Carina frowned as the shot fell short, but Salazar knew what it meant.

"Ah, finally." Salazar grinned. "They have committed to fight."

His face was avid, his eyes a bright amber, and another ripple of gut-clenching anticipation for blood, stronger than the first, swept over Carina.

 _Blood and fire_ … her Dark crooned, and it made her shiver with fearful trepidation.

"Come, Carina," Salazar strode forward and took the wheel, Magda and Lesaro moving away to position themselves at starboard, wrapping their arms through the shrouds to hold steady.

"Ven aquí," he said again, motioning Carina to the space behind the wheel.

Carina stepped in, not sure what he was wanting, and he reached out a hand, pulling her to stand between him and the wheel.

"Hold on, and do not move," his fingers tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I will keep you from falling."

Carina took hold of the wheel, as Salazar pressed up behind her, exactly as he had – was it only last night? She wasn't sure anymore. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

The shouts of the crew aboard the Essex reached her, and then there was a clear command to load the cannons.

Her stomach tightened, and when she shivered at the feel of his chest against her back, it wasn't from confusion or nervousness, like it had been in that silent hour of midnight when she had been so ignorant of – so many things.

Now, it was from glowing excitement.

The Dark started to thrum through them both, eager for what was to come.

The back of Carina's neck prickled as the Silent Mary closed in, only yards between them and the Essex. She felt Salazar's cracked cheek pressed against hers, and she could hear the increase of his harsh breath in her ear. She gripped the wheel tight enough to feel its old wood splintering into her palms, exhilarated at the speed of the Mary as she skidded over the tops of the waves, faster than Carina had yet seen her be, as thought she was just as eager for the blood as her crew. And just when she thought they were going to crash right into the Essex, the Mary creaked and started to raise herself up out of the sea. The quarterdeck tilted beneath Carina's feet, the hull expanded, the bow curling upwards like a caterpillar until it eclipsed the Essex completely from her sight.

She held onto the wheel tighter than ever, a wild laugh escaping at the exhilaration of being lifted so high, even while her stomach was turning over, her heart was beating madly, her mouth was dry and her hair flew off her shoulders as the entire bow of the Mary kept stretching upwards.

Amidst more shouted orders below, the Essex sent an ear-splitting, mind-blasting slam of cannonfire. The iron round-shots of the British warship hurtled through the Mary's skeletal hull, not able to make a single dent on her. Bitter smelling blue-grey smoke rolled under the Mary. Carina's ears rang in a high-pitched whine from the loud assault; looking down, she could just make out through a gap in the decking beneath her bare feet the scurrying men far below, attempting to tilt their cannons higher before reloading.

Looking down made her head spin, so she looked out instead, at the sunlight reflecting almost white off of the blue sea, the cold salt air chilling her cheeks, and she felt the wood of the ship's wheel chafing her stiff fingers.

For the first time she felt alive, truly alive, all her senses keener than they'd ever been, and she wondered if she'd ever really known what it meant to feel alive before now.

As the Mary hovered over the Essex, it seemed that for that one , all the world held its breath.

The high-pitched ringing in her ears faded away, replaced by Salazar's soothingly familiar rasp of breath. His hand slid possessively around her waist and he closed his fist over hers on the wheel.

She half-turned her head towards him, eyes fluttering shut, luxuriating in the way her Dark was practically _singing_ at their touch.

His hand moved up from her waist to rest directly over her heart, his fingers splayed out over the top of his coat, one finger sliding in underneath to stroke over her skin.

" _Your heart still beats_ ," he whispered in Spanish to her. " _My precious Carina, the curse hasn't taken your heart yet. It still beats like a drum_."

She suspected then that Capitán Salazar didn't know the curse allowed her to understand his Spanish yet. She could hear his affection for her, unrestrained and beautiful; he didn't always speak quite so freely to her in English.

But even if she hadn't known what he was saying, she would have felt his meaning clearly enough. The way his voice reverberated through her, the low cadence of Spanish, made her lean her head back with a soft moan; she lifted her mouth to his, a clear invitation.

She smiled when she felt the brush of his lips on hers, more desirable and more real than any knowledge of any book she'd ever coveted, any map she'd ever traced, any star she'd ever seen in the night sky, and infinitely more precious even than her first lesson in astronomy, when she'd first felt the shape of the constellations' names on her lips...

And then the Mary let herself fall down, the force of the wind as they fell slapping Carina in the face, the heavy press of Salazar behind her smashing one of her knees painfully against the wheel, the cries of terror from the crew on the Essex below piercing through to some buried part of her, that echoed their same terror at the death and destruction they were about to bring… but there was no more time for Carina to think about that, for the Mary had landed in a storm of violence across the deck of the Essex.

But the British warship didn't break apart neatly.

Instead, the main mast of the Essex pierced up through the rifts in the Mary's deck, crunching up alongside the broken mast, its shredded white and red canvas sails twisting around it.

The Mary had effectively pinned itself to the Essex.

_To be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Segundo barco a sotavento - there's a second ship on the leeward side
> 
> Ven aquí - Come here


	14. Of Cuts and Pikestaffs

Salazar swore.

The second round of cannonfire from the Essex sent shots raking through the Mary from end to end, deck timbers flipping upwards into the air in a series of irregular beats.

The Mary grated down heavily on the resistant ship, still trying to break it apart with her weight; but from both the bow and the stern of the Essex, came rallying cries.

"Boarders away!" A man in a torn British uniform, hatless and having lost his wig in the impact of the Mary's fall, with a grimy face that looked vaguely familiar to Carina, shouted again to the crew of the Essex, "Boarders to the fore – advance!"

Carina guessed he was the only man with rank enough left to shout orders, and his words were followed by a full throated cheer from the British.

Carina grinned madly at his insult; Salazar saw her grin, and returned it, delighted at her mutual amusement.

"God save the King!" The same man in the torn uniform cried again.

"Death to the Spanish!" Came the response, and the British began to clamber over the sides of the Mary.

This was better than Salazar had expected.

In a last desperate attempt, he could see that the British soldiers were actually going to board La María Silenciosa, and he hummed to himself in happiness. He always enjoyed an enemy who put up a fight.

Lesaro saw his Capitán's smile, and briefly, his eyes flickered over towards Carina in an expression of doubt. Carina looked levelly back at him, feeling the sharp stab of his fear for her safety, and shot back a volley of resolute courage towards him. She was going to see this through, she was determined; she was not going to cower away in the Capitán's cabin like a coward.

She could see that Lieutenant Lesaro felt her determination, for even at this distance, she distinctly saw him blink in surprise, before deliberately turning away and crying, "Prepárate a abordar!"

To Carina's right, Magda had smoothly let go of his hold on the shrouds; to her left, Cortez drew his sword, ready to fight.

The bold attack of the British, even as the Essex groaned under the weight of the Mary on top of it, had caused a surge of excitement amongst the Silent Mary crew.

Carina could _feel_ it, like a cold current, flowing around her. If she wanted to, she could almost believe she'd be able to reach out a hand and touch it, feel its power pour through and between her fingers.

A harsh shout from the main deck below drew Salazar's attention.

The Silent Mary crew had already begun to engage the British, and Carina could see his expression change in an instant, from thirst for blood to a stern resolve as he shouted something to Cortez over the din of the fighting.

Cortez nodded and took up a defensive position next to Carina.

"What's wrong?" Carina looked between them, confused. "What did you tell him?"

"Carina, I will not let you fight." Salazar's eyes blazed red. "Stay here, with Cortez."

Carina's mouth dropped open. "I will _not_ stay here –"

"You will!" He hissed impatiently. "You are not strong enough to fight, and I will not risk losing you!"

"I am cursed, just as much as you are –"

"Not yet!" His voice cut over the top of hers. "Not enough! Your heart still beats, and while it does, I will not have you in danger!"

"Capitán!" She started to plead, "I can fight with you – "

"No, amor mío," Salazar stroked her face, but so hurriedly it felt like a slap to her instead of a caress. "Stay with Cortez!"

He dropped his hand over hers, squeezing one more time, before leaping down onto the deck below; another blast of cannonfire thickened the deck with more smoke, and she lost sight of him in seconds. She couldn't even reach out and feel him like she could with the others – after Magda's warning, she'd never yet opened up the connection between her and Salazar that the curse afforded. She wished now that she'd ignored Magda and done it. Because now that she needed to, she couldn't reach him. She didn't even know how to.

Below, she could see the bodies of the British being slain, gruff older sailors, bloody spittle dribbling through their beards; lying next to young, cleanshaven men, barely in their prime, groaning and choking on their blood as their eyes grew shadowed, and their expressions pulled into one last death-grimace of disgust… with a start, Carina remembered Henry.

 _Henry…_ she turned towards the cabin, stricken at her own forgetfulness. _Henry and Jack!_

"Bloody hell!" She started to hurry towards the cabin.

"¡Señorita!" Cortez stood in her way. "Capitán's orders! You must stay with me!"

She shook her head. "I have to see Henry and Jack!"

"No, Señorita, you must keep yourself safe!"

"I have to make sure they're not hurt!"

"We secured their chains to the wall, so that they could not move or be hurt." He put a hand on her elbow. "Señorita, return to the wheel. I can protect you better here!"

"I can't!"

"Por favor, but wait! At least wait for the Capitán!"

Carina was about to snap back in frustration, when, with a shudder and a huge, aching grind, the Mary finally split the Essex in two, falling the last few feet down onto the sea. The unexpected shock of it sent Carina to her knees. She cried at the jolting pain the fall produced, feeling as if it had shifted something in her kneecap.

"Lo siento, Señorita, are you hurt?" Cortez was at her side, apologising to her, holding out his hand to help her stand, and Carina's head spun at the strangeness of it, that the same officer who would've unblinkingly whipped Jack and Henry only a day or so before seemed so anxious for her well-being now.

He seemed to smile wryly at her as she took his hand, as though guessing the direction of her thoughts; and briefly, as his hand closed over hers to pull her to her feet, a jumble of images assaulted her mind: broth cooking over a fire, the wizened features of a leathery old man, the round, sweet face of a young girl, looking angry and upset by turns as she stood on a busy pier in a Spanish city, refusing to wave goodbye, until she was lost in the crowd…

Cortez let go with a frown. _That is not for you,_ came the clear reprimand.

Carina gaped at what had just happened between them. She'd just seen into Cortez's past – and from something as simple as a brief touch.

A close cry from the bottom of the quarterdeck steps arrested Cortez's attention.

"Mierde!" He exclaimed, looking at something Carina couldn't see, and she clearly felt his concern was for the Capitán. "Wait here! I will be back, and I will take you to the cabin, I promise, Señorita, but you must wait!"

"Stop!" She cried out after him, but he'd already moved quickly away, disappearing down the steps.

Carina stumbled back away from the cabin towards the wheel, her mind in a tumult. She hadn't thought the Capitán could be hurt, but she'd clearly seen him surrounded by the British in Cortez's mind. Bending over the wheel to peer down, she saw the deck directly below her was already a pit of horror. More and more bodies than before. And the smell that wafted up towards her was unlike anything she'd ever smelled, not even on the backstreets of London: gunpowder and urine, human excrement and blood.

But there was no Capitán at the bottom of the quarterdeck steps that she could see.

She craned forward, trying to see further up the deck, towards the bowsprit, where she was sure she'd seen the Capitán disappear through the wreaths of thick choking powder smoke, but she still could not clearly make out where the Capitán was. She could feel Cortez though – and he was relieved. Whatever was happening, the Capitán had the upper hand.

As she concentrated on feeling for the other members of the crew in an effort to pinpoint exactly where Capitán Salazar was, she dimly became aware of a prickling in her right leg. Twisting to the side and stretching her leg out to look down at it, she saw a nasty chunk had been scooped out of the flesh just below her right kneecap: a one inch long gash that trickled dark blood down her calf. She hadn't even felt herself bleeding, and she couldn't remember how she'd got it. There'd been a sharp pain when she'd fallen to her knees, when the Essex had finally broken. And before that, she knew she'd smashed her knee against the wheel, as the Mary had first come crashing down. But she hadn't realised until now that she'd actually been _injured_.

She allowed herself a twisted smile. Her first wound in battle. She decided she would let it bleed. With an almost perverse satisfaction, she found herself looking forward to Capitán Salazar seeing it. She gingerly brought her legs together to stand straight again, using the wheel to haul herself upright. Cries and shouts of pain still burst across through the thick powder smoke on the deck, and that tendril of dark inside her was stronger now, writhing with impatience. The thrill of killing was calling to her, but she wanted to find Capitán Salazar more…

She closed her eyes, using her connection with the crew again to see if she could find the Capitán; and as she did, she became aware of everything.

As Lesaro slashed through starched cotton, the guts of a man spilling out onto the deck, she could smell it.

As Moss whirled with two swords, she heard his guttural laugh.

As Magda strangled a man with one hand, while another slumped forward, impaled on his unyielding blade, she savoured the weight of it.

She was holding onto the wheel, so lost in the overwhelming ecstasy of the shared feelings with them, that she nearly didn't hear the approaching attack.

 _Señorita!_ Lieutenant Lesaro's urgent warning came, faster than a thought, piercing the heavy blanket of bloodlust clouding her senses.

Carina moved instinctively, and a pikestaff clanked through the spokes of the wheel bare milliseconds after Carina spun to the side.

A pale young man, in the clothes of a British deckhand, looked at her with wide, frightened eyes. He tried to jerk the pikestaff out of the wheel, but the jagged edges of its spiked tip had caught in the spokes, and he wasn't able to pull it out.

The Dark erupted out of her. She punched him in the middle of his face, bone cracking under her fist, smashing his nose flat. He fell to his knees, holding his hands up to his face, screaming about not being able to see.

The Dark purred and flared around her, tingling over her skin, promising more; she'd never felt so strong.

Just like the strong sense of liberation she'd felt in the hold, it came again to her now: only this time, laced with a realisation of power. All her life, she'd been fighting, fighting for her right to have a mind of her own, fighting not to bend under the entitlement of arrogant men, fighting just to exist exactly as she'd been born to exist. And now, she was finally able to fight – and win. And the Dark knew it, and loved her for it.

A shout brought her back to reality.

A larger man in uniform, with a fat, round face, threw himself at her, sword slashing wildly. In the ferociousness of the attack, Carina tripped and fell back. He planted his feet on either side of her hips, standing over her, grinning in sick triumph as he raised his sword.

She sat up and punched him between the legs, forcing him to drop his sword as he buckled and collapsed back painfully in an undignified heap with an anguished cry, clutching his groin. Scrambling up, she grabbed at the pikestaff, from where it was still caught in the ship's wheel.

A deafening rapport splintered the wood just to the left of her head, and stinging gunpowder sprayed her cheek. The young man she'd punched in the face had fired a pistol blindly, narrowly missing her.

Carina was enraged. She drew the pikestaff out, and spun around, striding forward to ram it through his chest, when a blur of grey lunged behind him, and the young man's face split oddly. A corroded grey blade was wrenched out from under his eye, a thick glob of blood slushing out.

"Señorita," Lieutenant Lesaro growled, flicking blood off his blade. "What are you doing?"

She looked up at him, her mouth twisted in frustration. "He was _mine_ to kill!"

"No," he shook his head firmly. "I will not allow it."

"Who are you, to tell me that?"

"You are cursed, Señorita, but you are not dead like us!" He said coldly. "And I won't let you be!"

"It's nothing to do with you!" She wanted so badly to swing her pikestaff at him, even though she knew it would do nothing to him. "I want to kill, and I will!"

"Señorita Smyth," he stepped in towards her, "You don't know what this curse is, what it means –"

"I know it means I am strong!" She snapped at him, and his expression wavered, like it had before, his struggle to control his grief slipping right there on the deck, even as the blood of dead men slipped under their feet.

"Señorita…" he pleaded.

Carina saw it then. Underneath the mask of coldness, the same grief she'd felt from him before. The heavy heartache the Lieutenant carried was bitter in Carina's mouth, tasting of dead roses and loose soil. She saw a fleeting impression of a woman, with a bright smile and curly hair, coupled irregularly with the image of her name, carved onto a gravestone…

She blinked the images away.

Lesaro was still standing there, looking at her sorrowfully. As if he pitied her. As if she needed saving!

"I don't need your help!" In anger, Carina turned on the man lying on his stomach, still clutching his groin, ready to take her thwarted rage out on him, but Cortez was already there, severing his spine with a single thrust through the back, before striding on towards the cabin.

She snarled and whirled on Lesaro, eyes blazing a hellish maroon. "You should have let me _kill_!"

The Dark pounded inside her, driving her to seek blood, screaming at her until all she could think of was killing. She started moving mindlessly towards the sounds she could still hear on the deck below, the hopeless shouting, the pathetic cries of pain, the living men she could _kill_ , when Capitán Salazar stepped in her way.

"Carina." He placed a hand on her shoulder.

Behind him, Lieutenant Lesaro continued watching, the anger and the sorrow washing over his face as the Capitán stood in front of her, before turning away as if unwilling to intervene, no matter how much he might have wished to.

"Carina, mi dulce amor," Salazar said gently, drawing her attention to him.

Impatient, Carina tried to shake him off. "Don't you start with that –"

"No, Carina." He held her firmly, forcing her to listen to him. "You are new to it! New to the feeling! It has been so long, I forgot what the first days were like for us…"

He sounded almost regretful, but it only irritated her.

"Leave me be!" She cried.

He closed his eyes, his grip on her tightened, and that was when Carina felt Capitán Salazar through the curse for the first time.

She felt the power of _his_ curse running through her – but not to inflame or incite.

No. Incredibly, he was pushing her bloodlust back down.

"You don't need to rush headlong into murder, Carina," he leaned into her, his voice low and persuasive. "Not… yet..."

He murmured more to her, too low for her to hear everything he said under the thrumming of their shared curse, but she saw the way he looked at her, saw his lips move, and involuntarily, her tongue flicked over her own.

"I need it…" she said hoarsely, reaching her lips up to his.

"No, Carina…" he whispered.

"I need _you_."

She licked at his mouth, and he responded, eyes closing as she took his bottom lip between her teeth, teasing him, tasting him – before he shuddered, and resolutely pressed her back.

"Not here." Salazar said firmly. "Not now, little Carina."

She looked so despairing, face tilted up at him beseechingly, that he nearly relented; but instead, he satisfied himself by running a thumb over her lower lip, letting her nip at his skin.

He noted her eyelids were cupped around with a faint violet, the colour of a delicate bruise; and her cheeks were no longer merely pale, but white tinged with the faintest grey; contrasting more sharply than ever with her dark hair.

And the maroon of her eyes… the shade of blue they'd been, the shade that he'd secretly grown so fond of in the short time he'd known her, was now completely gone.

In amongst the maroon stain of her eyes were unmistakable flecks of amber, lending her an odd, otherworldly look. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"Capitán!" Cortez shouted, sword out, standing front of the cabin door.

They both turned.

More British navy men were stamping up the steps towards them.

In an instant, Moss and Magda leapt high over the railing and landed on the quarterdeck, placing themselves firmly between the armed men and Carina.

Lieutenant Lesaro moved with the swiftness of an expert swordsman between Moss and Magda, engaging the first of the wave of trespassers coming towards them.

At the frightening speed that Lesaro dispatched the first few, two of the men, clearly higher ranking from their gold-trimmed but grimy uniforms, peeled off and deliberately headed towards where Cortez stood, defending the door to the Capitán's cabin –

"Bloody hell!" Carina cursed, realising.

"See to your pets," Salazar told her. "I'll see to the rest!"

But there was no longer a clear path to the cabin. More soldiers poured up towards them, apparently intent on taking control of the Mary, clashing their cutlasses against Lesaro, Moss and Magda, trying to get past them to where Carina stood with Salazar. She levelled her pikestaff, preparing to charge through towards where Henry and Jack were still imprisoned in the cabin, but Salazar stopped her once again.

"No, Carina! Get behind me!" Salazar shoved her with one hand forcibly to the wheel, but Carina pushed back.

"You can't keep me from this!" She snarled.

" _Your stubbornness drives me mad_!" He cried in Spanish.

It was obvious he didn't know yet she could understand him; and she couldn't resist a wink. "Mad, are you? Well, you know what they say. Love _is_ mad..."

His eyes widened in shock at her. He truly had not realised that her curse already allowed her to understand his mother tongue.

"Carina..." he was appalled. "How long... how long have you been able to –?"

"Oh, not long," she couldn't help enjoying herself. "But you really should show more discretion. Insinuating to your poor Lieutenant that I was begging for more _is_ rather boastful, don't you think?"

Salazar's expression was one she knew she'd treasure for a long time.

But it was not to last, for a harsh shout of "Move, you bastards!" brought both their attention back to the present threat before them.

They stood side by side, Salazar with his sword lifted high, Carina with her pikestaff in two hands, and then the first of the navy men forced their way through Lesaro and Magda's defences to run at them.

Carina thrust out and felt the steel head of her pikestaff sink into soft flesh before jarring against bone. The pikestaff was jerked forward through her fists, but it was the man falling to his knees, its sharp iron head lodged in his gut. The Dark was in a tumult of delight, a small voice in the back of her mind was sobbing, and her cool detached intellect told her frankly, _you've just killed a man._

"Stand aside!" Came a British shout. "We're going in!"

Carina saw Cortez, his head visible over the fray, fighting the two men who were trying to get into the cabin. She had no idea why the British officers would be doing so, unless they mistakenly thought Capitán Salazar was in there.

She yanked her pikestaff out of the man's gut, and started to fight her way forward, her arms moving mechanically, plunging over and over into body after body, blood dribbling down the staff, running over her fists, the smell of copper heavy in the air, blood already congealing over her skin.

She saw Cortez stab one of the men in the neck, and had to stop to wrench his sword back out. The other man shoved Cortez away with a cry of triumph and kicked the door to the cabin open.

 _Jack… Henry!_ The cabin door swung shut. _They're mine!_

Dark exploded out of her.

The force of her fury made the remaining navy men lurch, as though hit by an invisible tidal wave. The world darkened around the edges of Carina's vision, and she saw it clearer than ever: her connections with the crew of the Silent Mary was a shining web in her mind, each member a bright conjunction in that web, and she pulled hard on the threads that connected them to her, not even knowing what she was doing, just knowing instinctively what had to be done.

 _Kill_ , she sent out through the threads. _Kill them all._

The crew of the Silent Mary responded to her command with alacrity, unquestioningly, all of them now closing in on the quarterdeck, drawing on her through the connecting curse, readily welcoming the strength that infused them, even though it was no longer the boiling rage of their Capitán, but the unyielding glacial cold of the Señorita.

Dimly she heard Salazar breathe her name in awe, but she had no time.

She pushed past Cortez, and flung the cabin door open.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Prepárense para ser abordados - Prepare to be boarded


	15. Of Deaths...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Silent Mary has engaged in battle with The Essex, but there is a cost.

The first thing Carina smelt in the cabin was blood.

Rusty chains swayed from a loosened rivet in the wall – a new addition Moss and Cortez had put in, to make sure Jack and Henry were secure. But it hadn't been secure enough. Twisted chain links and pried-apart shackles were on the floor. A dark, wet smear started a few feet away, curving around and through the half-open door into the inner room, as if someone had shoved their way through, dragging a bleeding body hurriedly with them.

But that room was their room. Hers and Armando's. She hadn't wanted anyone in there. She wanted that room to remain private, belonging to them alone. Had Henry and Jack been forced to hide in there? Alarmed, she stepped quickly around the trail of blood, afraid she'd see more blood inside, picturing in that second their lifeless bodies, lying limp on the sheets of their bed.

She stopped in the doorway. There was only one man in the room. Just one man, standing with his back to her, head angled down, as though he were looking at something beside the bed.

She deliberately hit the floor with the end of her bloodied pikestaff; five short, successive raps, to get the man's attention.

At the sound, he startled like a guilty dog and whirled around. “Back, foul creature!” He cried, reddened sword pointed at her neck. “Get away!”

Even if there had been a question in her mind before, there could be no mistaking him now. The uniform, the crisp accent, the hard eyes, the sneer when he realised it was a woman standing in the cabin. It was him.

“Lieutenant Scarfield.” Her lips drew slowly back in a predatory smile.

Scarfield hadn’t seen her since Saint Martin; and though it had only been a few days, for Carina it felt like centuries. So much had happened. She saw, on closer inspection, that he sported a dark and bloodied mark on one cheek, and was glad. Someone had hit him, hard enough to split the skin against his cheekbone, and she hoped it had hurt.

Scarfield frowned. “Who – are you?”

Carina arched an eyebrow at him, an irrepressible glint of humour in her eye. “Oh, Lieutenant, really. Am I so forgettable?”

She felt her Dark curse wrap around her, familiar as a lover sliding an arm around her waist, pressing up behind her to whisper secrets in her ear. It told her that Scarfield had come in here with the intention of killing whomever he found. Unfortunately for him, she'd found him first. She wasn't going to make his end quick. Capitán Salazar's coat swirled around her legs as though in anticipation; dark power prickled over her skin.

Scarfield's eyes went wide at the visible stirrings in the air around her.

“Señorita!” Cortez thumped a fist against the outer cabin door, but Carina did not even turn her head.

“Oh dear,” she smiled, enjoying Scarfield's continued fear and confusion. “You really don't know who I am.”

“Señorita Smyth, we cannot open the door, it is stuck –” It was Lesaro, trying to shout through the door; but Carina couldn't hear the rest of what he said, because sudden grunts and cries and clashes of steel muffled his voice. Lesaro and Cortez had been forced to cease trying the cabin door, and fight against the English instead.

“Miss… _Smyth_?” Scarfield stared at her in astonishment. “You – you can’t be...”

Her Dark danced with delight. “It looks like you're going to have to face me all by yourself, Lieutenant. I'm afraid none of your men are going to be around much longer to help you.”

For one indulgent moment, she allowed herself to feel the men of La María Silenciosa through their shared curse – the lives they were taking, the blood they were spilling. She clearly felt Lesaro and his sharp anxiety for her safety. She felt Cortez’s urgency as he pounded briefly again on the door outside, augmented by the determination of Magda and Moss to kill every last Englishman. She could feel _all_ of them, silvery threads of power fused now to the very centre of her being. Her Dark curse purred through her, pleased with her stronger connections to each one of the crew. She could feel her curse move easily now, a dark river flowing out from her to each of them. Knowing that they were there, just outside, still fighting... the knowledge sent a keen thrill up her spine.

Scarfield still stared at her like he could not believe it. “You're – Carina Smyth?”

There was a heavy crash against the door and a sharp smashing of swords, followed by Capitán Salazar's deep Spanish ringing out.  The sound of his voice in that second stole her attention, and she closed her eyes from the sheer force of pleasure hearing his voice brought her. She could almost see him in her mind: snarling and brutal, the strokes of his sword coming down again and again and again, vicious in his desire to get to her.

She opened her eyes, maroon flaring to a bright scarlet at the thought of all that blood covering her Armando, to whisper, “Carina Smyth? Not anymore.”

The Dark flared in the air again, stronger than before, billowing the coat around her thighs, lifting her hair off her shoulders, bringing a scent of bitter fire and charred skin sweeping into the cabin from out of nowhere.

“So,” Scarfield said grimly, his mouth set in a straight line at the unnatural display. “You really are a witch after all!”

“Oh,” she laughed, twisting her pikestaff in her hand. “I'm worse than that.”

“I should never have let you escape Saint Martin,” Scarfield declared, looking like he was trying to lock his knees to keep his legs from trembling. “I should've hung you in your cell!”

At that, the Dark whispered wicked secrets to her, and Carina's laugh turned cold.

“Oh... so _that's_ why. All this hate for me, simply because I looked like _her._ ” She tapped the floor with the pikestaff, emphasizing _her_. “That woman you wanted to marry.”

Scarfield's eyes widened, fingers becoming claw-like around his sword. “I don't know who you're talking about…”

Outside, the cries of dying men, the sharp ring of metal on metal was gradually fading as the battle drew to a close. The occasional pistol shot still resounded; the oddly loud, animal-like grunt of a dead man’s lungs as he was rolled across the deck to be disposed of in the sea; but inside the inner room of Capitán Salazar’s cabin, it all seemed far, far away, as Carina's maroon eyes focused intensely on him.

“Yes, you do,” Carina started to slide seductively towards him, “You hated me because I looked just like her… that woman you wanted so badly. That woman, who rejected you so terribly out of hand.” She shook her head as though in sympathy. “And you thought she'd leap at the chance! After all, didn't she come from a family of – farmers, was it? _Sheep_ farmers? Barely a generation ago? How humiliating –” _Tap_ went the pikestaff, “That must have been for you. And what was her reason? That you weren't good –” _Tap_. “ – enough? Not handsome –” _Tap._ “– enough? Didn't have the right number of pounds per year?”

She was close enough now to touch him, and she did, smoothing the lapels of his uniform with one hand, while holding the pikestaff in the other, as he stared helplessly at her.

"But it was none of those things, and you know it. She just didn't want _you_." She held the pikestaff delicately with the tips of her fingers, as if posing for a painting: a pretty shepherdess with her crook, pouting at her sheepdog. "Hurt your pride, didn't it. Made you feel less of a man. But you couldn't hurt her back. Not how you wanted to, anyway. So you spent all your hate on hurting every other woman, and especially... hurting any woman who reminded you of _her_ –"

He moved fast, she was almost impressed, knocking her pikestaff out of her loose grip to clatter loudly against the wall. "Those rags you're wearing would serve better if they were _stuffed in your mouth_!"

His blue eyes were hard chips of ice in his red face; but having faced Capitán Salazar's potent rage, Scarfield's fury was pathetic to Carina by comparison, and it made her laugh.

" _Die, you witch_!" He snarled suddenly in her face, and twisted his sword around in a well-practiced flourish to drive it straight through her heart.

From Carina’s throat came a sharp flute-note of agony as she sucked in her breath.

She'd felt it.

She'd felt the flesh part as he drove his sword in through to the hilt, felt the twinge at the way it cleft her heart's bloodchambers.

Felt her heart stop.

Her curse sighed in exquisite happiness, and Carina was overcome by the velvet Dark gliding over her entire body.

 _You are mine_ , it promised with all the grace and joy of a bride making her vows on her wedding day. _You belong to me now._

Scarfield stumbled back, pulling his sword out as he did. She’d half expected it to hurt when Scarfield removed the blade; but curiously, no lasting pain followed. There was a brief second of nausea inside her belly. A quick, sharp constriction in her chest. A relaxing of her lungs. And that was it. The Dark helped her bear, with equanimity, the awful sensation of her chest muscles readjusting to the sword’s departure; soothing her, working over and within the wound. She pulled the coat apart a little, careless of her audience, too interested to see what was happening. The tear in Salazar's coat was clean, and precisely positioned right over her heart. But there was no blood. Just a line of reddening scar tissue, where the sword had been. Her natural curiosity was piqued, and she wished she could have spent more time observing the unusual way she’d healed, but Scarfield’s deep-throated cry of confused fear brought her back to the present.

“Witch…” he uttered, wide-eyed. “ _Witch_!”

“No," she said slowly. "Beloved.”

Scarfield stumbled back another step, sensing the presence of power in the woman before him, his eyes so wide now the whites were showing, his face drained of blood. Carina ignored him. She studied the healed patch of flesh once more, marvelling at yet another advantage the curse had granted her. She caught herself humming to it involuntarily, a snatch of an old Scottish tune that one of the kinder nuns used to sing to them at the orphanage.

Idly she traced the tear in the fabric. Such a shame. She actually really liked this coat.

“Carina!” She heard Salazar’s cry, accompanied by renewed pounding on the outer cabin door. “¿Carina, por favor, esta bien?”

"Oh... oh, no." She clicked her tongue, thinking of what the Capitán's reaction was going to be when he saw the coat was ruined, and looked back up at Scarfield. "He is going to be _so_ angry."

Well, she thought consolingly, at least she couldn’t see any blood on the coat. Blood would have been very hard to get out. Not that the coat had been in good condition to start with, but still. It didn't need more damage. She ran her eyes over Scarfield's sword, but there was no blood on the blade either, as if running it through her had wiped it clean of whatever blood had been on it before.

Carina stiffened with realisation. Blood. There had been blood. On the blade. Blood _before_ he had run her through.

She'd been so distracted by seeing Scarfield, her Dark curse so eagerly whispering Scarfield’s secrets to her, that she hadn't stopped to logically assess the scene before her.

Carina's gaze became scarlet as it fixed on him. "What did you do?"

Scarfield backed away in fear from her, this unkillable woman, terrified incomprehension all over his face.

"Where's Jack and Henry?" She started to advance on him. " _What_ did you _do_?"

And then she heard it. A faintly rasped, “Carina…”

On the other side of the bed.

“Carina,” it was Henry, hoarsely gasping out, “We’re here…”

She spun around.

Jack was groggily flailing next to Henry, as if he'd only just regained consciousness; beside him, Henry was weakly leaning against the side of the bed, trying to help Jack with one arm as he struggled to sit.

Carina had already known that they'd both somehow managed to cleverly escape their chains. Perhaps they'd done it in the violence of the Mary's impact on the Essex. Perhaps when they'd heard the English boarding the Mary, terror giving them strength to break free. But no matter how they'd done it, the moment she'd seen Scarfield, she'd simply forgotten that they would still be in the cabin.

Jack's face was bleeding – a shallow cut curved his cheek from ear to jaw, underscoring the accusing glare he threw at Carina. It seemed their escape from the chains alone had saved them from being completely at Scarfield's mercy. He wiped at a dribble of blood, annoyed, the red smearing over the back of his hand, before ignoring Carina in favour of checking on Henry.

She turned back to Scarfield. "You've hurt them." She said. "You tried to kill them."

Scarfield had backed all the way to the wall. There was nowhere else for him to go.

"They're mine." Her voice started to rise as she started towards him again. "They belong to me. I paid for them, and _they're mine_!"

Her hand shot out, gripping his neck, lifting him above the floorboards as she slammed him up against wall. She squeezed, her arm rigid, locking him in place.

"Carina," Henry’s hoarse voice was behind her. "Carina, don't."

 _Blood and fire and death_ , the Dark was singing to her, _blood and fire and death._

“Carina, stop!”

Carina didn't want to.

She wanted to kill.

"Carina, please, _please_ stop!"

Then a different voice came, one that made her pause.

"Mi dulce Carina." A grey hand gently clasped around the wrist she held Scarfield up by, and Salazar whispered in her ear, "Let him be, amor mío."

"But he tried to kill them!" Carina's harsh voice sounded strange, even to her ears.

"Shh, shh, shh," Salazar soothed her, and she felt his power sliding through her again, his curse trying to caress her own, trying to push her need for bloodshed down, trying to control her with his power… _trying to control her_. Her own power reared up like a cobra spitting venom, and she hissed at him, “No!”

Salazar’s lips went still at her ear, his grip on her wrist hardened, and she didn’t have to look at him to know he was stunned and angry. She shook her head a little in sudden confusion. She’d stunned herself with the force of her involuntary response. Her Dark curse had recognised its progenitor, she was sure; but it had refused to respond to Capitán Salazar like it had previously, and it certainly refused any attempt on his part to influence Carina.

 _Mine_ , it insisted in the thick silence. _You’re mine._

Salazar sensed Carina's curse speaking to her and acted quickly, grabbing her by the chin and turning her to face him, covering her mouth with his own before she could protest, with a kiss that was almost violent in its passion.

Her curse responded at first with an equally violent resistance, but the taste of Capitán Salazar’s mouth, the heady feel of his tongue sliding between her lips, the memory of how much she’d craved his kisses in the night… Carina was raised once more into a sky of unimaginable, ethereal desires, and it wasn’t long before her lips captured his back with just as much fervour, overjoyed that he was kissing her so blatantly, delighted that he was not telling her ‘no’, as he had before out on the quarterdeck.

Her Dark hesitated before allowing the kiss to continue, pacified if only because Carina herself wanted to be kissing him. But she could still feel it, restlessly swirling down her spine, waiting for her to change her mind.

“Mi dulce Carina,”  his words dropped into her mouth like molasses, and she let Scarfield go, dropping him into a forgotten heap on the floor, turning in towards him to deepen their kiss. Salazar broke their kiss only to welcome her completely into his arms. For Carina, the feel of him was a balm, and she greedily held the taste of him on her tongue, as she buried her face in his hair.

“My little Carina,” he stroked her cheek gently until she looked at him again. “You do the most unforgivable things.”

“What?” She pursed her lips. “Are you going to tell me I can't kill that –”

“You made me worry about _you_.”

“Oh.” Carina had been so intent on saving Jack and Henry, it hadn't even crossed her mind that he might have thought she was in as much danger as they were. “Well. I did – ruin your coat a little.”

His gaze dropped to the tear over her heart, and he sucked in a harsh breath. “What is this?”

“Nothing,” she shrugged, finding she didn't particularly care to tell him just what had happened. Or how it felt to have her flesh reknit itself back together as a sword had exited her chest.

“Carina –” he started.

“Capitán.” She reached up to stroke her fingers along his half-broken jaw, but he took her hand in his own and held it still against his chest.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I defended myself.”

“That is not... what it looks like.”

She pulled back a little, annoyed. “That’s what happened!”

“What did he do to you?”

“Nothing.” She sighed and stood on tip-toe to press her lips to his. She wasn’t ready to tell him just yet. It was something she – strangely – felt like keeping to herself. It was for her and her beautiful Dark alone. The purity of the moment when her heart had stopped beating was not something she wanted to contaminate by talking about it.

“I let you come in here alone," Salazar angled his face away from her lips, unwilling to let the matter of her safety drop, “But I shouldn't have. I should have kept you somewhere safe, Carina. I should have kept you with me. Away from – being exposed so soon.”

“I'm fine. Well, I do have a cut on one knee that I was going to show you, because it’s the first time I’ve ever had a battle wound, but don’t worry, it's nothing terrible –”

“It's not what I meant," he stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. "I was meaning… the curse." He drew in a deep, rasping sigh. "It was too soon for you, to be exposed to bloodshed. It has – changed you. Even sooner than I thought it would.”

“You speak like there's something wrong with me.” A scowl flitted over Carina's face. “There's nothing wrong with me!"

“The curse is different for you –” He paused as she frowned. “The curse has given you an ability that I did not ever imagine could be possible.”

Carina smiled coyly. “You mean the ability to command your men?”

“Not _command_ , Carina!” It was Salazar's turn to scowl, “But – they responded to you. They welcomed your – power, through the curse we share.”

A groan from Henry interrupted them, followed by Jack's low voice, comforting him.

“Yer'll be right, Henry,” Jack was telling him. “We'll get yer fixed up, good an' proper.”

Beside the bed, Henry had staggered up against Jack, groaning again in pain as he did.

Carina turned away from Salazar, frowning at Henry; who seemed to be having trouble standing.

“What's wrong?” She asked.

Jack cast her a cold look. “What do you think?”

Carina stepped away from Salazar completely. “What do you mean? What happened?”

Henry's breathing was coming in short, breathy rasps, and he seemed to be having trouble focusing on what was around him.

“Got cut,” Jack said abruptly. “And I don't s'pose you've got a doctor on this ship, d'yer.”

For the first time, Carina noticed the floorboards beneath Henry were stained with blood. One of his boots was slick with it, the breeches above soaked through – and wrapped around his thigh was one of Jack's shirt-sleeves, torn and applied in a tight tourniquet, now turned scarlet from the blood that pulsed out in waves from a wound on Henry's inner thigh. She realised she had still been smelling the scent of blood that had assailed her when she had first entered the cabin – but she'd thought that it came from the shallow cut on Jack's face. She saw now it hadn't. It had been Henry's blood that she'd been smelling.

“I'm so sorry, Carina…” Henry gasped, trying to focus on her. “I – I hope you find – the Trident…”

He sagged back down to the floor, his arm slipping weakly from Jack's shoulders, sitting heavily in a puddle of his own blood. Jack went down with him, trying to ease the young man as he collapsed. Henry leaned against the side of the bed, his legs at awkward angles, but seemingly unable to move them anymore.

“Hold on,” Jack told him. “Just you hold on now, mate.”

Carina froze in horror, her eyes fixed on Henry's pale face, shiny with perspiration.

Jack turned humourlessly to Salazar. “So. What's it gonna cost me to get him fixed up? Not that I'm up to the going exchange rate you Spanish seem to have –”

“There is nothing that can save a man from that,” Salazar did not mince his words. “A cut like that, in that place, and he will not survive.”

Carina still stared, rooted to the spot, the meaning of Salazar's words slowly penetrating the thick shock that wrapped around her.

Henry was going to die.  
  
Henry was going to die, and it was all her fault.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *am* continuing the story, it is just taking some time. I have been writing this since August last year (and quietly musing in the back of my mind on the concept of Carina being 'infected' with the curse for ages before that), so thank you to everyone who is still reading and supporting this story. It gets pretty hard sometimes to keep going, and I will be the first to admit that I have been struggling with a lot of emotions/IRL issues that sometimes have got in the way of writing. Thank you to everyone who has been sending me supportive messages and leaving kind comments. It is very appreciated, more than you know.


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